Journey to Uhura
by RedShirtSurvivor
Summary: This is how I like to imagine Uhura got her personal memories back after she was wiped by the probe Nomad in the TOS episode "The Changeling." (I may not be the first one to think along these lines but this is how I see it going.) It is slightly AU, but I try not to get too crazy. This is my first fic; please be gentle :) Rated T just to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own anything Star Trek, this is just me having fun for fun's sake. Also, I know that SpockXUhura is not a popular TOS paring, but I couldn't help my self, they're my OTP in any universe. If you don't like this pairing, then this fic is probably going to really annoy you :) If you do ship it, then I hope you like my take. **Constructive** criticism is always welcome! LLAP.

* * *

A week had passed since Kirk tricked Nomad into self-destruction. Uhura was now fully ready to return to her work on the bridge. But it was apparent to everyone, the way she moved, walked and spoke, that she was not the same as she'd been before. The captain was worried. It had only taken a few days to reeducate her, but how long would it take to get her back to normal?

Late one evening, shortly after her return to duty, she received a sub-space message and patched it to her private quarters. Everything in the room was foreign now, just pretty things hanging on the wall serving no real purpose. The small screen on the desk filled with the image of a woman who looked a lot like herself.

"Nyota! My God, are you okay? I just got the message it takes a while for stuff to get to us all the way out here. I don't know why they didn't just send it live…"

"Nyota?" she asked simply.

"Nyota, it's me, it's Mwezi. Your Doctor's message said you were being reeducated. Don't you recognize me? Nyota, it's me, your sister."

"I— I don't remember having a sister. I don't remember anything" she said looking down at her hands, clasped together in her lap.

The woman let out a hard breath and then a loud sob averting her eyes, her elegant and slender hand clapped to her mouth. She looked up with a fire and determination that Uhura wished she recognized. "I'll get to you Nyota! I don't know how, but I am going to get to you and we're going to figure this out together! I'll take you to whatever system I have to to get you fixed."

"I—I can't leave my ship, I'm an officer. I have a duty to Starfleet."

"You remember all that and not me?"

"It was part of my reeducation." The woman, Mwezi looked so sad, shaking her head, covering her face with her hands.

"My sister." She said in Swahili. "My Star, I will fix this."

Uhura didn't know what to do after she disconnected with Mwezi. She went to the nurse, Christine. She was kind and patient; she'd retaught her everything she knew. "Christine."

"Oh Uhura!" she chirped brightly. "Is everything okay?"

"What is my first name?"

"I—I don't know. It's not in your records. You're only listed by your preferred name, as N. Uhura."

"And my family?"

"Well, going by the stories you told me before…you were raised by your mom in dad in Zambia. You have an older sister and a younger sister. The older one is in Starfleet, she's your emergency contact. The other lives on earth with her husband and kids. You—you don't remember anything about your personal life?"

"Only Swahili. I think in it." Her eyes darted to the floor and back to the nurse. "It takes me a second to translate all my thoughts into standard. I don't remember _anything _else. I just talked with my sister live over the comm, Mwezi…we look alike. She cried."

"Oh Uhura."

"I didn't recognize my own first name. She kept calling me Star and I didn't understand why. I don't know why I joined Starfleet. I don't know why my name isn't in my records. I'm not sure why I picked communications instead of…I don't know, medicine." She sat heavily on the nearest chair. "I don't know a thing about myself."

All Christine could think to do was tell Dr. McCoy and all he could think to do was tell Kirk. "Jim, she's got nothing. Just the facts we filled her up with. Scotty's back to normal, but we just may have to let Uhura go, send her to a med facility on one of the Starbases. I just got a call from the sister, Commander Uhura, and she wants to see her, and take her back with her."

"Out of the question, Uhura belongs on _Enterprise_."

"Jim, she doesn't even know her own name."

"None of us know her name, now she's like the rest of us."

"Listen to yourself!"

"Bones! Uhura might not know herself. But _I_ know her and I know she wouldn't want to leave the ship."

"_Wouldn't? _You're talking about her in the past tense because the Uhura we knew is gone. We can't do anything else for her here and she can't keep on this way."

"I will not lose my Chief Communications Officer."

"Perhaps you don't have to Captain. I may have _absorbed, _if you will, some of the Lieutenant's personal memories during my meld with Nomad. He was very powerful and I melded with him not long after he wipe. I may have retained something."

"Why didn't you say anything before, you green blooded hobgoblin. Do something, meld with her and fix it!"

"I said _may_, Doctor."

"This _may_ be the only chance we have to keep her on the ship. Do what you can, Mr. Spock."

Spock meditated, probed deep into his own mind until he found the impressions left by the probe. It had inundated him with so much imagery and information at once; he hadn't sorted through it all initially, just found what was essential to relate to the captain. Now, he found what it had taken from Uhura, stored as data, translating into a few gigabytes of space.

Her memories were there, her thoughts motivations and secrets—her katra— just lying dormant. It was so human and emotional that his mind must have suppressed it instantly, filed it away in a part of his consciousness he refused to touch. But it was there, and through a meld he could give these things back to her and then choose to forget the information he wasn't supposed to be privy to in the first place.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I still don't own Star Trek and I still wish I did. Also a thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited and followed. I was surprised and am very grateful. I also just want to preface by saying that I imagine a meld to be a full experience, so powerful that it can only be described in physical terms, so that's what I did. Please let me know what you think of my interpretation. I welcome **constructive** criticism and dialogue.

/ indicates interaction happening in the meld/

_Italics is dialogue that is exchanged telepathically._

* * *

Uhura was admittedly a bit intimidated when she was approached by the Captain, Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy all at once. She tried not to feel cornered. But they explained to her that the first officer may be able to help her. He had telepathic abilities that enabled him to pick up her lost memories from the probe. She wanted to understand the process when he expounded on the details, but it seemed incomprehensible. Still, this was a chance to be herself again, and a chance was all she could really ask for.

They arranged to meet later in the evening, when the bridge was quiet enough to spare its senior officers. Spock had insisted that the meld be done in his room. Given the extensive nature of the transfer, it was imperative for the safety of both parties that he be as comfortable as possible. His quarters were hot; a dry desert heat that mimicked his home world. They were also under a red tint that didn't strain his eyes. This was obviously the optimal location.

Spock was dressed in light, largely unadorned meditation robes when she arrived, flanked by Kirk and McCoy. He was already cross legged on a beautiful mat, fingertips pressed together. The room was filled with the spicy, heady scent of Vulcan incense. Before him was an earthenware vessel, containing a small, preauthorized fire—an asenoi.

He gestured for her to sit across from him. She was grateful that she wasn't in uniform either. For some reason she couldn't identify, this all seemed spiritual, reverent. Her long caftan seemed much more suited to the setting. He was also clearly paying homage to his rich culture. She didn't yet know anything of her heritage, but she knew that her garment was somehow indicative of it. It was right.

He attempted again to make sure she understood what was about to happen, the gravity of it. And again, she _wanted_ to comprehend, but it seemed she was going to have to experience it to really get it.

"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts." His warm hand pressed gently against her cheek and temples. Her eyes drifted shut slowly, like a baby fighting sleep.

/ She was willing and even eager for the meld. He had to pull against her as she almost snatched him into her mind. _"My mind is different from yours, Ms. Uhura, more powerful—especially while you are in this state. I must be careful or I could hurt you."_ She was offended so he gently let her feel the weight of his mind and she instantly took a mental step back.

_"Wow,"_ was the only response she could come up with. His voice seemed to echo through her. He was…inhabiting her? It was…fascinating?

"_Now, I am going to take you to the part of my mind that contains the things I learned from Nomad. This is very private for me and you. We will both see and experience these things. Are you certain you want to continue?"_

"Yes" she answered internally and externally.

The logical part of his mind was easy to navigate, laid out like a well-planned city with thoughts rushing by at a breathtaking speed like hovercars on a motor way. Everything was organized and well lit. His shields and disciplines, Vulcan checks and balances, towered like sky scrapers. But they kept going. She was amazed at how visual the experience was. Things that were invisible, metaphysical, now seemed as real as the meditation rug she was sitting on in his quarters. He remained quiet as she followed him through his thoughts, letting her observe. His outer calm was apparently a reflection of his inner quietude.

Then, the paved streets were just a bit cracked and red dust was peeking up through the damaged asphalt. And it got darker as they went further. The version of herself that was inside, reached out and grabbed Mr. Spock's hand; He didn't pull away, but wrapped his fingers around hers. It was incredible how real the contact seemed. It reverberated back as their minds nestled closer with the action. She felt fear coming from both of them.

_"I thought—I mean, I was taught—that Vulcans cannot feel, Sir."_

_"A common misconception. Vulcans do have emotions, but we are in control of them by means of strict mental discipline."_

_"So…"_

_"We are reaching the less tamable part of my mind. I am half human."_

_"Is this where my memories are?_

_"Yes, they're too human to keep anywhere else. I am in control of my emotions, that includes your thoughts and emotions that were thrust upon me by Nomad."_

_"Did we have to walk through your logic city, could you have brought us here directly?"_

_"That would have been unsafe and unwise. And it is important that you know that my entire mind is not like what we are about to encounter."_

She squeezed his hand harder and drew closer to his side. There was almost no sign of the beautiful arrangement that they'd come through. Compared to the City of Logic, this was a shanty town, completely neglected.

_"All human minds seem this way to me, chaotic and disconcerting." _

_"I don't believe they are though."_ As she thought this, she had an epiphany, latching onto a sensation from him. _ "You see them this way because you feel…" _she paused she analyzed the feelings swirling around them. "_Shame and disgust at your human heritage. And guilt, because you love your mother and you don't want to hate what she gave you! It's a terrible cycle that you can't escape. It hurts you so much. But the fact that it hurts, that you feel pain, it makes it worse. You're trapped. You feel trapped when you come here." _

She was overwhelmed by the feelings he kept here. She clutched him to keep from drowning. But that meant he was trying not to suffocate, too. She held him to comfort them both. /

"Trapped!" she said aloud. "Drowning!"

"Should we do something, Jim?"

"Give them a minute. I saw it with Spock and Nomad. Whatever they're feeling inside they say outside. Who knows what memories he's giving her?"

/ Dark clouds that she knew symbolized his emotions were gathering above them. They were black and heavy. Thunder announced their arrival and lightening, lightening that represented shame and fear split through them. He was petrified by the idea of their release, a great deluge that neither of them would be able to escape. _"I am in control of my emotions."_ He chanted the mantra over and over again until the sky started to clear, just the little patch above them. She joined him.

_"We are in control of our emotions."_ She mimicked the mental pushing that he was doing, forcing the clouds away.

_"We need to find your past."_

_"We don't have to do this, Sir."_

_"I must give you back you emotions, your thoughts. Keeping them is testing my discipline."_

They walked on, but she kept an arm around him and he draped an arm across her shoulder. He didn't want her to be seeing any of this, but she was here. He couldn't abandon her, and frankly he didn't want to be here alone either. Finally, he reached what looked like a small house. They both recognized it for what it was.

She rushed inside, but everything looked packed, stashed away in unmarked containers. _"Did you do this?"_

_"It is exactly as I absorbed it from Nomad. I suspect he compressed it for storage. My mind has interpreted it this way."_

_"Can we open these?"_

_"We must, but carefully. They don't appear to be in any particular order." _She opened the smallest box, thinking it may be her childhood, but she was wrong. It was music. The probe must have found it inconsequential and jammed it all in there together.

She was a singer. She loved music. "Beyond Antares" was her favorite song. She didn't care for contemporary Terran music, but favored the ancient genre known as American Standard. She knew it now, as soon as she opened the carton it returned to her, washed over her and infused itself back into her consciousness. Now she _knew_ how much she loved music.

"_Fascinating." _He could feel that she wanted to tear open everything. She wanted to be back to normal. But he sent her calm, telling her that they must pace themselves. It would be unwise to take in 32 years of knowledge in a few hours. She conceded, but she wanted to show him her mind, like he'd walked her though his. It was only logical to do so.

She took his hand and led him out of the structure, through the dark borders of his control and back into the humming city of his ordered mind. She had done this to make him comfortable, to give him a chance to reorient himself. He was grateful, and surprised by her understanding and consideration.

_"I find your mind beautiful, Sir."_

_"Spock." _He corrected. _ "There is no reason to address me so formally in such an intimate setting."_

_"Spock." _She repeated, with a Vulcan lilt that he'd never heard her use before. She had perfectly echoed him. _"Your mind—all of it—is beautiful." _she laughed and he could feel the amusement, and nervousness. _"I'm grateful, thank you."_

_"You're welcome."_

They arrived at their destination although she wasn't sure how. She didn't feel them leave his mind and enter hers.

_"We are of one mind, there is no distinction."_ She was awed. It was unfathomable. Even experiencing it wasn't enough to really understand it.

Her mind was nearly empty. All the knowledge that they'd given her was sitting neatly on a desk, in the form of the tapes that they'd used in her reeducation. There was so much emptiness. She was glad to have his company, but she felt embarrassed and inadequate after what he'd shown her about himself. He convinced her he wasn't passing judgment. He laced their fingers to reassure her of his presence.

There was music. She had music, and a host of vague memories connected to the melodies that she couldn't see yet. She also had the few days after Nomad, the conversation with Mwezi. Conflicting emotions were rising in her. She was happy to have this much about herself back, but she was deeply saddened that this was all there was.

If his emotions were clouds, then hers were vibrant colors. Blue and yellow that fuzzed together where they met to create a light green that was somehow tied to the envy she felt for his mind. She basked in the feelings and made no moves to banish them, they weren't ominous or scary. The just were.

_"Can we stop now?"_ she asked, her mental voice something of a whisper.

_"Indeed."_ He eased from her mind slowly as not to jar or frighten her. He felt the soft semblance of panic as he left. She wasn't sure she wanted to be alone again. But he also knew that she was ready to stop seeing her mind this way so he continued. /

When he opened his eyes and withdrew his hand, she was crying. He suppressed a new urge to take her hand and comfort her.

* * *

**One More Thing:** I know that storm clouds might seem like a weird choice for someone from a desert planet, but I think the rarity of them on Vulcan would make them even more alarming. Plus it would probably be something he associates with earth/ humans.

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you to anyone and everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited or followed my story. You're a huge encouragement to me. Please continue to review. I love **constructive **criticism and dialogue!

I still don't Star Trek and I still wish I did.

/indicated activity inside the meld/

_Italics indicates dialogue that is exchanged telepathically._

**See the bottom for Vulcan and Swahili translations.**

* * *

After the first session, Spock meditated and took the time to sort through her memories. He organized them chronologically. It had taken some doing because inexplicably, one of her memories would bleed into another from years later or earlier. They were webbed together in an illogical way but he made the best of it.

She was much more adept at dealing with the mental clutter. She seemed to have a filing system and she knew just where everything went on sight. It was indeed organized chaos. He marveled at her uniquely human abilities.

Some memories were obviously more important than others. The colors around them were brighter and the music was clearer. There was music threaded through each one, some of it muffled, like ancient vinyl. Still, some of it as flawless as a song released that morning.

They encountered one such memory early on.

/ Nyota, five years old, was sitting on the floor between Mama's leg. Mama was tugging gently at the mass of hair sticking up from her head in every direction, parting it. Then she massaged her special blend of oils into each section and combed it.

Nyota loved when Mama did her hair. It was one of her favorite things because Mama was gentle—Bibi not so much!

In the background, piped through every room in the house, was one of Mama's favorite artists—Stevie Wonder—an earth legend who's music was never cast aside despite whatever new music came out. Mama liked timeless things. As "Isn't She Lovely," played, she bounced a bit in her seat, singing along in English, making sure to sing at both of her daughters equally. Baba hummed with her, sitting at the computer console working. The sisters shared a smile and joined in, swaying to the melody.

The cornrows Mama was making were tugging at her scalp, but she didn't mind because they always looked so neat and pretty when they were done. After a while, she was so relaxed by the repetitive motion, and the lower tempo songs that had followed, that she was nearly asleep.

That's when Baba shot out of his seat with a loud cheer, startling everyone. "I got it!" He shouted.

"You got it? Oh Angaza, really?"

"What did you get, Baba?" Mwezi asked.

"An interstellar patent for my code sequence. My application was accepted. Now I just have to go to San Francisco to receive it in _person_."

"Yay, Baba!" The littlest said. She didn't understand what a patent or a code sequence was, but she understood the excitement. He'd done something special. Knowing that, she ran to her room and came back with a book of stickers. Baba clearly deserved a gold star and she stuck it to him with all the conviction of an admiral awarding a commendation

"My beautiful, brilliant, genius husband!" Mama gave him a hug and long kiss that made her smile and her sister cringe.

With unbounded enthusiasm, Mama took out her straight braids, got the beads and started to part her hair into a much fancier pattern.

When she was done, Nyota marveled at herself in the mirror. It was the prettiest hair she'd ever seen. She didn't even care that the wooden beads would hurt to sleep on. It was worth it to look so impressive.

Later in the week, they boarded a transport ship that shot them across the globe in a matter of a few hours. It was the first time she'd ever seen someone from another species. They were so new, she wanted to keep looking at the yellow man that Mama said was Suliban, but she swatted her and told her it was mean to stare. She never wanted to be mean!

San Francisco was full of people in all different colors: blue, green, yellow, purple. Some of them were furry, like her teddy bear and others had skin like snakes. She liked them all; they were pretty, even the ones who were normal human colors.

She didn't really like how cold it was, but who cared when there was so much to see. The building were so tall, they looked like they could fall over. Everything was silver or white or glass. And there were long hovercars that didn't hover, they were hooked up to a wire and they moved slow—trolleys. Nothing was like back home. She was almost running with joy pulsing through her—bright yellow and orange tinting the memory.

The second day they were there, Baba left early in the morning to get his patent. He looked so handsome in his dashiki suit. It was better than other business suits because they fit too tight and they were only one dark color. What he was wearing now, a deep purple tunic with matching kufi was much better.

While he was away, Mama took them to see the city. There was a street lined with all the flags from the federation! All kinds of people were crowded around the monument taking pictures. Mama was doing the same. She got a shot of her two girls, in matching yellow dresses, holding hands with all the planetary flags waving behind them. Then she got a stranger, an Andorian, to take a picture of all of them together. The blue man said he wanted a picture with them; they were as alien to him as he was to them.

Before they left, it was announced that a Starship was going to be leaving space dock. And for a split second, you'd be able to see it jump to warp. So, when night fell, San Francisco went dark. Every light on every skyscraper was turned off for a mandatory 10 minutes. Instantly, the sky was flooded with stars.

She and Baba had done a project once. He put white glue on black paper in a special pattern—a star chart—and she poured the silver glitter on top. When she shook the paper, all that was left were speckles that represented the night sky over earth. It was her favorite, the prettiest thing she'd ever made, and yet this was so much better than that!

The whole family breathed a sigh of amazement, darkening their own hotel room and moving onto the balcony. Just then, the city that hummed and revved was silent.

"Don't blink." Mama instructed, lifting Nyota onto her hip. Baba did the same with her sister.

At that moment, two hot, bright rainbow streaks of light, ripped excitedly across the quite sky. The city erupted directly after; they could hear triumphant cheers all the way from the 52nd floor. Fireworks popped and sizzled, explosions of fire in all kinds of patterns. Symbols from each of the Federation's founding planets, ending in the Vulcan IDIC.

"Perfect, that's the perfect way to sum it up," her father said on a sigh.

"What's it mean Baba?"

"Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations."

"What's _that_ mean?"

He thought for a moment before responding. "Diversity is all the differences that make people special, that make them interesting and beautiful. So it's as many beautiful differences as possible, in as many ways as possible. It's a big idea, but we're _almost_ there."

Then they sat their girls down and grabbed their hands, forming a circle. They bowed their heads and he led them in prayer. He asked for safe passage and safe return for the members of the _USS Clark._ He also prayed that reaching out and learning about other species might just teach them how to be better humans./

Spock withdrew from the meld when he sensed a lull in the memories, fading colors and softer music. All her emotions had pummeled him. First the intense deep pink love for her family. Simple and childish—untainted by everything else. The blue security. Then the almost blinding joy and excitement of her father's news. The rainbows swirl of things as she made her own personal first contact. It was exhausting to feel all that from a small human female who had no ability or desire to censor her reactions.

She felt how tired he was even after he left her mind. It was overwhelming. When she looked at him she noticed that his eyes were a bit lidded and his posture was a bit limp. He shook his head to clear it but it didn't seem to work. He'd done so much by agreeing to do this for her; she wanted to return at least a fraction of the favor.

So she blew out the flame in the asenoi and disposed of the ashes from the incense and rolled up the mediation rug. Then she returned everything to its proper place. Boldly, and yet thinking nothing of it, she located his sleeping attire and got him a pair of pajama pants. Only then did he bother to rise. He moved to the bathroom to change and she went to the bed to pull down the covers and fluff his pillow. Then she wondered if Vulcans liked fluffy pillows and tapped it back down.

He emerged shirtless. She never imagined he looked like that under his uniform. His chest was sprinkled with an enticing amount of hair and his body was tight and defined. He didn't look embarrassed to be in a semi-dressed state, but really what was a little skin after being of one mind with someone.

"In an effort of full disclosure, I am able to sense you thoughts and feelings at present. After the melds you can expect a residual—albeit weak— link.

"And what to you sense?" She crossed the short distance between them and took him by the arm, leading him to the alcove where his bed was. There was a sparkle of energy and she realized that all his skin was probably charged with telepathy.

_"I can hear your thoughts when you touch me."_

_"That's something." _She commented more on the sensation than the information he'd just related. _"Then hear this. I'm going to tuck you in."_

_"Only humans get 'tucked in.'"_

_"Then I'll tuck half of you in. Do you prefer the left or the right?" _She felt his amusement as she sat him down on the edge of the bed. Looking down at him, she realized how beautiful he was. Before she could actually reach out to touch his slanted brow, or the tip of his spearhead shaped ear, he grabbed her wrist and raised on of those sexy brows at her. Belatedly, she remembered that he heard that inner dialogue and knew what she was about to do. Seeing no sense in being embarrassed she just beamed at him. His lips curled infinitesimally in response. _"You must be tired."_

_"Indeed."_ He pointedly laid back and swung his feet up until he was horizontal. True to her word, she reached for the blanket and only covered the right half of his body. He gave her the brow again and turned on his side, away from her.

"Goodnight, Mr. Spock."

"Rest peacefully, Ms. Uhura."

* * *

**Vocab & Translations:**

All Vulcan vocabulary is taken from the Vulcan Language dictionary. ( /vld/)

Asenoi: Meditation fire pot

Swahili vocabulary is taken from Google Translate and other research resources.

Bibi: Grandmother; Dashiki: literally just means shirt but their are different types. A dashiki suit is the equivalent of a business suit. Kufi: Traditional hat worn with a dashiki.

Also Mwezi apparently translates to month and moon. For my purposes, it means Moon.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thank you all for your reviews! I appreciate all the feedback. Thank you especially for **constructive** criticism as it makes me think and helps me improve. This is the longest chapter yet, hopefully it's not too long. Let me know what you think. I still don't own Star Trek and I still wish I did.

/indicated activity inside the meld./

_Italics indicates dialogue exchanged telepathically._

**_See_ the bottom for Vocab **(and some name meanings.)

* * *

Spock meditated deeply after each session with the Lieutenant. In volunteering to return her memories, he failed to factor in the effects of sharing his mind so deeply and so often with another. He hadn't melded this frequently or thoroughly with T'Pring and she had been his betrothed.

He'd gleaned much from living her childhood memories. Much of it was illogical and confusing, but it was enlightening nonetheless. For example: Human females seemed to turn grooming into a bonding ritual. Nyota's mother continued to do her hair long after she was capable of doing it herself. They also took frequent excursions that excluded Angaza Uhura, this was called "girl's day out." During this time, their mother, Fahari, would take the girls to an establishment called a spa where they would take "baths" in any manner of strange substances like mud, clay, or even chocolate. Most illogical. They would then have their nails manicured only to cover them with a layer of colorful paint. As foreign as this all seemed to him, he understood its purpose because she did. These experiences endeared her mother and sister to her. These memories were tinted a heavy pink, infused with love.

Vaguely, Spock wondered if his mother had performed such rituals with her own mother, or perhaps if she would have taught such rituals to her half-vulcan daughter if she'd had one. Did she regret that Vulcan had no equivalent to "girl's day out?"

Young Nyota was also deeply attached to her father. Her thoughts of him were colored blue, a blue that meant security. She felt nearly invincible in her father's company. His deep voice and large commanding presence seemed to reinforce this feeling in her. She was also very proud of him and his considerable accomplishments. (The interstellar patent had only been the beginning.) She wanted him to be equally proud of her and so she worked hard on her studies and very rarely disobeyed. For Spock, proper behavior was not motivated out of any particular emotion. It was only logical to operate with established cultural parameters, so this too was unusual.

He found it curious that anyone could develop such intricate relationships without a telepathic familial bond. But it seemed that in some ways, at least in her case, that human families could achieve a higher level of intimacy than even certain psi-sensitive species.

Uhura's relationship with her sisters was a study in human relationships all its own. When her mother's pregnancy was first announced, she reacted with joy, so much so that it caused him to smile outwardly while still inside the meld. Then, as the gestation drew on, Nyota became more insecure in her position. She had spent seven years as the youngest, Baba's baby. Now, where would she fit in? Adding to her fears, her parents moved her from the room next to theirs to one down the hall. She felt like she was being replaced, that she was redundant.

Her parents of course tried to counsel her. They told her no less than 43 times during the pregnancy that they would "always love her, nothing, and no one is going to change that." They also tried to reason that becoming a larger family would only give them an opportunity to expand in love.

She was unconvinced until she finally set eyes on the infant. She was instantly filled with fondness and a need to protect. "Yeye ni Nzuri," she gasped, awed.

"Yes, Nyota, your sister is beautiful. And I think that's a nice name for her. Nzuri Uhura."

"Beautiful Freedom." The oldest captioned, enthralled by the newest addition as well.

One night, with her parents getting a precious few hours of sleep, she snuck into the baby's room. "I'm sorry I didn't want you at first, Baby. But I love you now." The child stirred and she made soft clucking sounds, stroking the sleeping girl. Quietly, she sang to Nzuri, the course of "Isn't She Lovely?"

This made Spock wonder how his arrival had changed his family. Did Sybok originally see him as a usurper? Surely, Sarek hadn't sat him down and told him how much he loved him; how he'd love him no matter what. Had his bother been fascinated by him, or maybe even played music in an effort to soothe him? It wouldn't surprise him given the fact that Sybok's control had always been questionable at best.

She had been able to briefly catch his sideline musings during the meld, but she made no comment. She sensed it wasn't something he was sharing, just not something he was in a position to hide at the moment. The downfall, she supposed, of having such a powerful mind, was that it could do so much at once—return memories, make detached, almost scientific observations and recall personal experiences. She understood more with every session the need for Vulcan discipline. A mind as vast as his couldn't go untamed.

After a while, the melds became less of a treatment and more of an indulgence for her. She missed him when they were separate. And when she looked at him on the bridge, she wanted to know what he was thinking. She knew him better than herself at the moment and she craved the familiarity. Only recalling fifteen years of her life had her feeling incomplete most of the time. But with Spock she felt like more, like a better version of herself.

The after effects of the meld were great too. She thought faster and more precisely. To be specific the likelihood of her making an error in her subspace reports had decreased 37.867% and her productivity had increased 62.21%. This left her with, on average, two additional hours of free time. Unfortunately, only the commander seemed to think of her more meticulous nature as an improvement. Bones threatened to "draw her blood and make sure it was still red if she threw one more blasted statistic at him." He looked genuinely relived when she laughed.

Under the influence of the residual, Spock found himself more musically inclined. He'd always made a habit of regularly practicing his Ka'athyra, but now he felt more compelled to do so. And uncharacteristically, he turned on music and let it play in the background while he worked. He even dared to play some non-instrumental Terran music. The lyrics were glaringly illogical, but the melodies were agreeable.

She thought she was crazy when she entered his quarters and heard "Fly Me to the Moon" playing softly while he tapped at a PADD with a stylus.

"Just how extensive are the after-meld effects?"

"Quite extensive, apparently. Ms. Uhura, a cultural inquiry?" He sat the PADD down and swiveled in his chair to face her.

"Shoot."

"Why would I shoot you?" He asked, both eyebrows elevated.

"It's an expression. It means go ahead, say what you have to say."

He nodded. "Why is it that humans compose countless songs about developing complex emotional attachments only to later write an equal amount of songs detailing the severance of such attachments?"

"Because people fall _in_ and_ out_ of love, Sir."

"Humans use that word loosely. I have heard Lieutenant Sulu remark that he _loves_ swords. Lieutenant Masters commented that she _loved_ shoes. Am I to conclude that they have a romantic attachment to these items?"

"You're being critical, you know they don't. For humans, love can mean romantic affection, a predilection to something, or even a strong like. I _love_ music, but it's not keeping me warm at night." She shrugged and he looked at her blankly. "It's doesn't replace a mate."

"I see." He stood and turned off the player, which had been churning out "Unforgettable,"

"So we share musical tastes now?"

"I doubt this phenomenon will continue once our sessions have run their course."

"It's good to see the music hasn't changed your sense of romance!"

"It is fortunate."

She gave him a long suffering look and took her place on the mat. He lit the asenoi and incense before sitting. He took a few minutes to center himself, and she followed his lead using some of the techniques he showed her. The peace between them was nearly palpable, and she thought for a second that she felt connected to him even though he had yet to initiate the meld.

/He entered her mind the way a soft wave laps at the sand. His mind rolled over hers and then pulled her along with him. She settled into the City of Logic, still awed by its size, order and efficiency.

Their inner selves joined hands as they journeyed to the part of his mind where he kept her memories. Spock noted that when joined with her, his human emotions seemed less threatening. She understood them, and she was accustomed to how they _felt_. Having only learned to identify and suppress them, her expertise was fascinating. His clouds were still there, in the distance, but he didn't feel endangered by their approach. And her colors somehow seemed harmless now.

They unpacked three more years of memories until she had all her thoughts up until her 18th birthday. When she graduated from high school, her parents were so proud. Mwezi came home from the academy, Denobulan boyfriend in tow, and brought her a model of the golden gate bridge. Her aunts, uncles and cousins streamed in from all over Africa. They were all in traditional grab, wrapped in cloth of gorgeous colors and bold patterns. They sang old songs of celebration and danced. The memory was flooded with music, boisterous drums and the joyful voices competing with them. She had never been so happy up until that point in her life. This was the image she associated with home and family.

After the memories dulled into things that were more mundane, they pulled back to a casual distance. She had gotten accustomed holding him while they were in thought. At present, she had her head on his chest and her arms wrapped around him. He made no effort to shield her from the contentment her proximity brought him. He was picking up a warm affection from her and something more complex that he couldn't identify.

Curious and mischievous, she turned and looked up at him. Her eyes locked with his for a long while. His Vulcan gaze was unwavering and exploratory. The complex thing coursed with new life as he pulled at it. _"What is this?"_

"_Attraction."_

"_I understand attraction. This I do not understand."_

But she felt his misconception. This wasn't a simple sexual attraction. There were elements of that of course, but she was attracted to the essence of who he was. He was like her favorite song. He moved her in a way that could only be understood if it were felt!

She was draw to him in a way that could probably only be described in the intimate meld space. These secret parts of him, the flicker of emotions that she picked up on from him as they uncovered her past, the recollections that her memories triggered in him—all of it. She had been wrong before. Spock wasn't half human or half Vulcan. He wasn't half of anything, but wholly both. And that made him twice as special, unique to all creation.

"_A novelty?"_ He questioned. And all at once she was struck with every taunt and blow he'd ever suffered. Every wish he'd ever had to be more logical, less emotional. She felt every second of humiliation and shame, culminating in T'Pring's rejection. It was obvious to him that it wasn't his "legend" status that repelled her, but his hybrid heritage. She must have seen him as little more than a mutant, an unethical experiment. She rejected him for not being Vulcan enough, while simultaneously his Vulcan savagery nearly sent Jim to his grave.

Then he felt a sickening shame for having shown her these things, for allowing himself to be laid bare like this.

She reached up and cradled his face in her hands, smiling softly. Feeling the same sort of suffocation from the initial meld, he bent down and dropped his forehead to hers, hoping she would know how to stop this.

She called up her complex attraction, deep respect, and warm affection. She focused on it until it doused his self-loathing cycle. Her mental voice was absolutely sure when she spoke. And he felt her sincerity. There wasn't an ounce of deception anywhere in her katra when she said _"you are not a mutant, an experiment, or a novelty. You are…"_ she paused to gather the right statement to truly tell him how highly she thought of him. _"You are IDIC manifested."/_

The weight of her statement physically forced the breath from his lungs. He slowly broke the meld, wanting to be gentler with her than ever. He knew how thoroughly she believed her words, but didn't know if he could invest in them himself. Still, he recognized that she was the only one, including himself, that had ever been able to stamp out the result of years of discrimination. He suspected that when he finally did find his place she would be somewhere close by.

* * *

**Vocab & Names:**

**Asenoi:** Meditation Fire Pot; **Ka'athyra: **stringed musical instrument like an electric harp; **Katra:** Soul; **IDIC:** Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations (a fundamental Vulcan ideal)

**Agaza:** Illuminate; **Fahari:** Magnificence; **Mwezi:** Moon; **Nyota:** Star; **Nzuri:** Beautiful; **Yeye ni nzuri**: She's beautiful

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: ** **This Chapter contains a memory of sexual assault and a snippet of the direct aftermath. Please proceed with caution. If this is a possible trigger for you, skip the second half of this chapter. **

Thanks for your patience. I know this chapter took me longer than the others, but this one was hard to write. I was really self-conscious about this entry so I'd appreciate feedback, should I keep it?

Still not an owner.

/indicates activity inside the meld/

_italics indicates thoughts that are exchanged telepathically. _

* * *

Uhura was sure of her place. It was with Spock. He held her mind in his. Just the thought of it made her shiver. Still, on a list of fruitless endeavors, falling in love with a Vulcan was probably at the top. Even if he wanted to, he would never let himself love her back. Unfortunately, love didn't work like that for her. She had no choice in the matter. She couldn't stop watching him, or thinking of him, trying to understand him. It was an obsession and a compulsion.

She was content with everything about him. When he stood over her at the communications console, she could feel his heat. He smelled of incense and Vulcan spices. She studied his leaf shaped ears when he bent over to press buttons and flick switches. Sometime she would let a bit of breath escape her to see if he felt it. Once, she would've bet her life that he shuddered.

She was thrilled when he offered to teach her Vulcan music. She was even happier when he suggested that they start with music theory. It was considerably more complex than Terran music theory, which she remembered studying in high school. He made it clear that one _must_ start a study of Vulcan music this way. It had to be appreciated technically and structurally because it couldn't be appreciated emotionally like other music.

Some of the material he presented her with was written in actual bound volumes. The sight of something so rare was instantly intoxicating.

He looked over to her and watched the way she stroked the spines of the books with reverence. Spock thought he'd known touch telepaths who were less careful with their fingers. The look of awe on her face made her seem as if she could gather all their knowledge simply by putting the covers against her skin. He'd noted previously the way her slender and nimble fingers flickered and swam over all the switches, buttons, and knobs on her console. For the shortest second he remarked internally that there may be a certain sort of magic in her hands. The illogical nature of that thought made him uncomfortable and so he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I think you'll find the study of this material to be fulfilling."

"Thank you, Sir." She responded, her deep eyes burning into his.

To his surprise, she made short work of it. He had obviously underestimated her predilection for music. He played a composition for her, one of his father's. He noted that as she listened, she swayed with her eyes closed. At one point her head even dropped back in…ecstasy. Still, when he asked her for analysis, she was able to use the correct terms to describe the technical merit of the piece. Regardless, he knew that she _felt _it. She found passion anywhere, even in a song that Spock knew for a fact had been written without any consideration to emotions.

She looked at him and he felt like he was being looked through. She blinked slowly, with an expression of complete contentment. It unnerved him the way that he could see all of what she was thinking and feeling on her face. It was alien to him. Not even his human mother was so open. He observed that human females were almost always more expressive than males. But she had to be the most expressive human he'd ever encountered. She was transparent.

She made him think that perhaps emotions weren't all bad. They looked so good on her. Joy, pride, excitement, wonderment. All of these things seemed to make her more aesthetically pleasing. A human may have remarked that her face lit up. He noticed that she talked with her whole body, her arms, hands, shoulders, eyes. Every part of her lent to the meaning of her words. He found it difficult to do anything else but watch her while he was in her presence.

* * *

The melds continued in exactly the same way as they did before; only now he didn't bother with the ritual words. He was welcome in her mind and he knew it. The formality was redundant.

/ Her college years were not unlike her high school years. He sensed some sadness as her childhood friendships faded. But they were replaced with new associates, people she shared true interests with. They went from memory to memory, not dwelling on anything nearly as much as they did her graduation party. Most of it was mundane, little conversations with people that had rarely crossed her mind before the wipe.

But then they stumbled across a memory that required a bit more attention. Spock had not spent much time with this one during his sorting process; it didn't seem to fit anywhere. It had been locked away before Nomad haphazardly snatched her thoughts. It felt ominous. The emotions tied to it were black, gray, red, and blue. But most unsettling was that there was no music here. It was silent.

A 21 year-old Nyota walked across the campus grounds. It was late and almost no one was out. The paths were lined with solar powered streetlamps and trees. She was enjoying the warm air of late spring on her way to the dorm. She took her usual route up the fire escape. The stairwell was well lit, but isolated, tucked in the corner of the building pretty far from any rooms. But she was confident. She had done this a thousand times before—albeit earlier—this wouldn't be any different.

She was on the third floor when she heard a second set of footsteps, heavy and slow. She made a concerted effort to stay calm and keep walking. They met somewhere between the fourth and fifth floors. She recognized the man, had seen him on campus a few times. She was polite to him because others weren't. She smiled nervously, not knowing him well enough to relax, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hey Nyota."

"Hi, goodnight" she said turning to keep going. He started to follow.

"You know it's not safe for a pretty girl like you to be out and about at this hour."

"Well, I'm almost home so…"

"Anything could happen…"

Spock pulled them from the memory quickly, back into the order of his mind, with less than his usual finesse. _"We don't have to see this."_

"_I have to see everything!"_

He turned their attention back to the scene just in time to feel the student grab her. She stumbled down a few steps and slammed into his chest. He smelled like sweat and stored laundry. He had a harsh grip on her wrist and the more she tried to twist and pull away, the more it hurt. The flesh there was starting to sting, and her eyes were starting to water as the desperation rose. He threw her against the wall of the narrow space and started to kiss her neck sloppily.

Spock's ire was barreling toward him from a part of his mind he never visited, he hadn't even shown her. His savagely protective instincts were rushing forward, but he pushed back at them, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what had already happened.

She was squirming and whimpering. She was begging and simultaneously beating at whatever part of him she could reach. Her fists landed against him, but never as hard as she would have liked. She was panicked and she only had one coherent thought—no! It was engulfing both of them until Spock was chanting aloud.

She tried to bring a knee between them but he grabbed her thigh, digging his fingers into her flesh through the fabric of her jeans. He held her leg up and continued moving his lips against her. He demanded she say things—that she say she liked it, ask for more. Terrified, she complied, but she still clawed and scratched at him, called for anyone to help her.

The fear he felt around him was too much. Spock released a visceral scream that reached beyond the confines of the meld. He was so much more than furious, he was homicidal. But it was magnified by that fact that he could do nothing to stop it. /

He broke the connection abruptly, struggling for breath.

She was sobbing and moaning in pain. She didn't dare to open her eyes. She clutched his shirt "You left me!" she accused. "I—I have that memory now and I'm there by myself. You left me!" she dissolved awkwardly onto the floor from her cross-legged position.

"Nyota, I broke the meld to save us both from the images." He touched her gently, laying her head in his lap and stroking her hair. The emotions, hers or his he wasn't sure, were still present in him. He was clinging to his control with his fingernails.

"Take me back."

"No," he answered flatly.

"I have to know. I lived with it before Nomad. I can live with it now."

"I cannot. I will see it, feel it, and be unable to protect you. This tests my discipline beyond its capabilities."

"I want to see it." He waited a long while, absently running his hands through her tresses, using this action to soothe himself before he yielded.

/They took the long way, entering through his logic before they rejoined the memory.

She was still struggling against the assailant. The encompassing instinct flared up in him again but he was able to keep it at bay a little better, knowing he was doing this for her sake.

Her thoughts cleared just enough to formulate a plan as she felt the student working on the button of her pants. She ran her hand over his face where it wasn't buried in her neck. Suddenly she plunged her thumb into the soft spot where his eye was.

His hand snapped to shield the injured area and she took the opportunity to ram her knee into his groin. Once he was on the floor, confused as to what part of himself to grab, she ran to the nearest exit. She didn't stop until she reached the main building.

Her fear and desperation didn't abate until her parents joined her on campus, a few hours later. The familiar sight of Mama dressed in the ornate, traditional cloth, head wrapped like a queen, did much to bat way the negative emotions. Still, being hugged by Mama made her cry. And she continued to cry, until she soaked her mother's clothes. She wept openly, even in the office. Her father's booming voice filled the room as he made all kinds of threats, some she knew he wouldn't hesitate to execute, and others she knew he would never act on.

The same tide of feelings returned as she was questioned by the police and answered their inquiries with as much detail as she could. Spock felt her growing frustration, felt the flashback within the memory.

She felt dirty. She needed a shower, a proper shower with soap and hot water; she needed to get off campus right now. Right now!

On the ride to the hotel, Mama stroked her hair and crooned to her while Baba kept his big hand planted firmly on her knee. She just wanted to tear at her skin until it ripped away and took his sick scent with it.

As soon as they found a room, she shed her clothes, barely making it in the doorway giving no thought to modesty. They burned against her skin and kept her hostage like chains. She made frantic whining noises as she disrobed and darted into the bathroom.

The first officer felt her skin as she rubbed the soft cloth against her neck and thighs until it was almost raw. But it, whatever it was, wouldn't come off fast enough. She scrubbed more vigorously and her breathing became labored until she was nearly hyperventilating. She thought for sure she would die like this, naked and dripping wet in a hotel bathroom with no dignity. It didn't matter, as long as she got it off!

"Get off me!" She hollered, her plea bouncing off the walls of the acoustically balanced room. "Get. Off." She was scrubbing harder and it hurt, but it somehow wasn't enough.

Baba slammed against the locked door until it gave way and Mama rushed in. Nyota was a ball in the corner of the stall by now, pleading the same words over and over again. Mama stepped into the shower, giving no regard to her clothes. In a few seconds, she was soaked. She grabbed at her daughter, heaving her up by the shoulders and accepting a white towel from her husband to cocoon their sobbing child.

Once she was less naked, her father took and cradled her like an infant. She thought he was so strong. The safety of it overwhelmed her in its contrast to her earlier vulnerability. Her breath was coming back to her as she buried her face in his chest and took in his scent, natural and powerful, Baba smelled like the earth itself. /

He knew she was coming even before he heard the door chime. He felt the sudden resurgence of the feelings from earlier, including that instinctive emotion he was helpless against. He reasoned that she'd had a nightmare. Somehow, he knew she would come to him.

"I can't sleep."

"I know." He answered.

"Did I wake you?" He shook his head and motioned to his bed.

"You're welcome to sleep here. I don't require much sleep. I can stay at my desk and work." She nodded. He felt that she was comforted when she laid down, though he wasn't sure why. For the first time, he wished they had a more intelligible bond between them. This weak empathic residual was unsatisfactory and insufficient. He sent her peace across it anyway. She was grateful. But she lay awake for another long while, afraid of sleep.

He knew she had to report the next morning and that soon she wouldn't be able to get enough sleep to function. So, he took his Ka'athyra from its position and played for her. He played the song she used to interrupt him to sing, the melody she'd made those nonsensical lyrics for. Obviously, she didn't remember the words as she remained silent, but she did drift slowly into sleep.

* * *

**Afterword:** So there it is. If you did read the whole thing, don't worry, the next chapter will be a lot less negative. Mwezi and Nzuri make a guest appearance.

Again, let me know what you think. I'm open to **constructive **criticism.

TBC.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I'm still not an owner and I still wish I was.

Thank you to everyone who has been consistently reviewing. You're really helping me since it gives me encouragement to keep writing. I think this chapter is a bit lighter but it still serves to further the plot. Her sisters' presence may seem a bit implausible but bear with me :) Please continue to R&R! Hope you like it!

* * *

"Private craft, registration number 48-Delta-765-Delta, requesting permission to dock, Captain. The vessel is being piloted by…Mwezi Uhura."

"Any relation?" The captain asked beaming.

"My sister, Sir." She hung her head. She should have known, from what she remembered of Mwezi, that she would do something like this.

"Permission granted."

"Aye Sir." She turned her attention back to her station. "48-Delta-765-Beta-Delta, this is the Enterprise. Prepare for docking." She wanted to kill her sister for this. She had what, rented a glorified hovercar and driven across deep space just to check on her? Mwezi was obviously insane.

She met her sisters as soon as they disembarked and left the launch bay. For the first time in a while she was reminded that she didn't have her whole life back. Nowhere in her memories were either of them this old. Nzuri especially. She wasn't the school girl she remembered. The bright naiveté and ambition that she last saw had been replaced with wisdom and contentment.

She decided to forgo all polite greeting and instead got directly to the point. "Are you space happy? What the hell?!"

"She's fine," Nzuri said rolling her eyes and sitting her suitcase at her side. They both ignored her tirade and wrapped themselves tightly around her. She missed this, it had been longer than she could even fathom since she's seen them. Her irritation was erased on contact.

"I got an emergency leave. Baba pulled some strings and Nzuri was able to meet me on Star Base VI, and here we are." The older woman looked her over carefully, staring directly in her eyes, evidently looking for something, or the absence of something. "You look okay."

"I'm much better than the last time we talked." She was about to have them follow her to her room when the captain and first officer joined them.

"Lieutenant, introduce us to your beautiful sisters." Kirk's eyes sparkled brilliantly, his charmed turned all the way on.

"Captain, Mr. Spock, these are my sisters: Ensign Uhura…"

"Commander." Mwezi interrupted, looking worriedly between the captain and Nyota. "I'm first officer aboard the USS Independence; the only Federation Starship with an all-female bridge crew." She added proudly.

"Oh my goodness, congratulations!"

Mwezi stared in shock, fighting tears. She wasn't alright at all. Her promotion was at least three years old and here she was congratulating her like it was new. Moreover, she hadn't been an ensign for about a decade.

"Anyway, Sir, this is my younger sister Nzuri Uhura."

"Whitaker." She amended.

Nyota sighed and stole a look at Mr. Spock. His brow was cocked in what she knew was concern. She felt ridiculous. She didn't know her own sisters, who she was sure she adored. They were close, as far as she recalled. And she didn't know about their careers or families. If she could've shrunk, she would have.

"Lieutenant Uhura is still working to have her memories restored. Her personal knowledge only extends to the age of 24." Spock provided.

"But that's eight years missing!"

"Indeed, but it is also 24 years that were not there before."

"Can we discuss this elsewhere? At some other time?" the middle girl interrupted.

"Okay," the eldest said quietly, wrapping an arm around her.

"You girls go ahead and settle in. Lieutenant Uhura, you're excused from duty for the rest of the day."

"Thank you, Captain."

Once they were in her room, the youngest presented her with a care package. "Mama and Baba told me to bring all this stuff. It was hard getting it all here intact, interstellar customs is a nightmare." Inside was real coffee and tea, which she knew would ruin her for the replicated stuff. She also brought her favorite chocolate, and dresses Mama bought thinking she'd like them—and she did. A digital frame held thousands of pictures from the years she'd been in space.

Mama and Baba had aged, gray hair creeping in at the temples. Her niece and nephew were adorable, two and four. Her brother-in-law was handsome too, with a boyish smile and big eyes—perfect for Nzuri. She tried not to feel melancholy, seeing how much she'd missed.

Mwezi was full of her own deep space stories, like the time an anomaly had the crew dodging everything that wasn't bolted down. Or the time that her Captain was kidnapped by an alien sect that wanted to marry her off to the highest bidder. It was kind of refreshing to realize that stuff like that wasn't only happening on _Enterprise._

She retold all the memories she'd made since the incident. They spent a considerable amount of time talking about her trip into that alternate, brutal universe. It was to be expected that Spock was the only one with any decency. But the beard was definitely a surprise.

"So was he V'Tosh Ka'tur in this other universe?" Nzuri questioned excitedly.

"What's that?"

"Vulcan without logic. But_ they_ prefer Vulcan of _passion_."

"No, he was still a Vulcan with logic, but how do you even know that?"

"I read inter-species romance novels."

"You still read those?" Mwezi asked going in her baby sister's purse and snatching out her PADD, shrugging off her attempt to stop her. She scrolled through the titles: "_Sunrise on Risa, The Untamed Tellarite, The Vulcan Who Loved Me, What happens on Weytahn Stays on Wetahn!_ I'm dying! Nzuri, you actually read this?" They had a long laugh at her expense, with the oldest reading experts from each. Although, she eventually downloaded the books onto her own device—space could get lonely.

The two ended up falling off to sleep relatively early, tired from the long shifts piloting their ridiculous little shuttle.

She needed to talk to Spock though. She wanted to share the feelings swirling inside her. Since they'd started these sessions, she found it harder and harder to tolerate multiple emotional responses at once. He was like chamomile tea, the scent of him, and the heat of him—all of it served to calm her.

He was in his room, working at his computer, like he'd been waiting for her. That was of course…illogical. "Sir?"

"Lieutenant, have a seat." He gestured to the mediation rug joined her. "You're overwhelmed."

"Yes, Sir. I don't know what to think. I wanted to come and talk to you. I know you're not my personal counselor, Mr. Spock. But I consider you a confidant."

"Logical, as we share our thoughts often." Again, he knew she'd be coming. He felt the disorder in her. In fact, he'd come to work in his room because it had been somewhat distracting. It was unexpected that the link would be so strong so many days since the last session. It was almost frustrating, sporadic and uncontrolled, opening and closing at will. Moreover, it was just empathic. He couldn't reach out to her, monitor her general well-being, send or receive intelligible thoughts. It was insufficient and unsatisfactory. A proper bond would've been a comfort, to have the constant and controlled press of her mind with his would be agreeable. But receiving random emotions at random intervals was unsettling.

He made a concerted effort to put these thoughts away before initiating the meld.

/ He slipped into her mind easily, the way a key slides into a lock. He saw the bright colors of her feelings bouncing around with no order or direction. It was dizzying. Love, sadness, happiness, fear, loneliness, frustration, amusement, and embarrassment. They took the time to analyze possible causes for each and once addressed they became more manageable. /

When the meld was broken, she felt lighter. With the negative emotions firmly in hand, she was able to be fully delighted by her sisters' presence. "I think I finally understand."

"Explain."

"Being in control of your emotions is freedom!"

"Indeed." The smile she flashed at him and her flourishing gestures didn't seem to indicate that she was in control of her emotional responses, but he chose not to comment. In the comfortable silence, he allowed himself to dwell on how alien she was. He could hear her deep even breaths and her slow human heartbeat. He examined her rounded ears, and brows that arched gently over her eyes. At length, he realized he was indulging himself so he stood and she did the same.

"Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome."

"Goodnight." She went on tip toe to press her lips to his briefly and regretted it instantly. Part of her wanted to run, but she stayed because she was an adult, and grown women don't kiss men and run away. She stood and waited for a reprimand.

Instead, he took her wrist and held her hand up; gently parting her fingers into the salute she'd seen him do. He must have sensed her searching for the name trough the contact because he informed her that it was called the ta'al.

Using the same gesture, he ran his hand over hers, slowly, just barely touching. Being this close was like standing next to an overheating warp core. Just as hot and just as dangerous. It was a wonderful sort of torture, too much and not enough all at once.

His forehead dropped to hers and she kissed him, unable to resist such temptation. He deepened it and she rewarded him by burying her fingers in his straight black hair and bringing him closer. Her other hand ran over his jawline and up to touch the point of his ear. He let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr while his grip on her tightened, lifting her off the ground. It was an effortless action, a simple and powerful reminder of his tempered Vulcan strength.

They broke this kiss only after they were both breathless.

Immediately, he straightened and clasped his hands neatly behind his back. His face was as unreadable as it had ever been, but his voice betrayed him. "Lieutenant, forgive me. I—I acted..."

"If you say illogically, I'll run screaming down the halls!"

"I fail to see what that would accomplish."

"Just don't apologize."

"It was inappropriate. It cannot, nor will it happen again. We are colleagues, and friends" he admitted with some reluctance. "It would be unwise to engage in physical activity and further endanger our working relationship."

She nodded, "a very logical conclusion, indeed. Thank you, Sir, for helping me sort through my emotions. I won't take up any more of your time."

"Lieutenant…"

"Goodnight."

He could feel a residual link from the meld. She was melancholy and angry. But she was still grateful and a bit giddy. Her emotional conflict was exhausting. She sensed his confusion and answered with disappointment He would need to meditate to center himself.

* * *

**One More Thing: **Most of the translations are explained in the text but if you have any questions on it let me know.

TBC.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** A huge thank you to everyone who has taken time out to read and review this story. It always brightens my day :) Dialogue and constructive criticism are totally welcome.

_Italics indicates dialogue exchanged telepathically._

Still not an owner, still wish I was.

* * *

Spock's meditation was decidedly unsuccessful.

Once, when Spock was six he came to earth with his mother and stayed at his grandparents' house while Sarek attended a conference on Risa. During that visit he developed a particular fascination with his grandmother's garden. On the fourth day, he'd been inspecting the daisies when a bee came and stung him right between the eyes. The sensation was decidedly unpleasant, but worse was his physiological reaction. Whatever part of him was human was also allergic to bee stings. It almost killed him, and would have if his mother hadn't broken at least five traffic laws getting him to the hospital. He remembered feeling embarrassed. If he'd been truly Vulcan, the sting would've been no more than a prick. It was just another reminder of what he was not.

Feeling Nyota's disappointment had been exactly like that. It stung and it was unpleasant. Feeling that juxtaposed with the deep attraction he'd felt from her earlier produced the same anxiety in him that he felt as a child, laying in the backseat of his mother's speeding flitter. Like then, he was reminded of what he was lacking. If her were more human he wouldn't have stopped kissing her. He'd have woken up next to her that morning. If he were more Vulcan he would've had no qualms about claiming the woman he shared his mind with and still have woken up next to her. But he had never been enough of either thing.

For the first time, she felt something from his end of the link. She had barely been able to sleep. All night, disquiet and shame that wasn't hers poured through her. But she didn't go to him. She knew he would resent it, that he probably hated that she could even sense this "weakness" in him. But somewhere around 04:00 she realized that the pain she felt was just a ghost of what was torturing Spock. Inside he was drowning from the downpour and probably couldn't see anything but his dark storm clouds. She decided it was more important to help him than to protect his pride—pride he'd deny having.

His door was locked and he didn't answer the chime but she had picked up his passcode somewhere in one of the melds. For some reason she'd expected to find him curled up in bed. But he was standing in front of his larger asenoi with his hand folded, head down, eyes closed, no expression.

"Sir." No answer. "Sir!" Nothing. "Spock. Spock, talk to me please."

He lifted his head slowly but made no other movements. "Why are you here?"

She dismissed her natural reaction to that question and crossed the room to stand behind him. "I felt you."

"Leave me."

"Not a chance."

"You must."

"You need me."

"I _need _to meditate." He turned around to face her and he'd never looked so openly tired. His hair was even a bit askew. She reached out to brush it back in place but he caught her wrist. Suddenly, his thoughts came into sharp focus. She took advantage of the touch and spoke directly to his mind.

"_You are suffering. I want to help you."_

"_Trasha nash-veh."_

"_I will not leave you no matter what language you say it in. It is illogical to refuse help when it is offered. Talk to me." _ His hand dropped but he didn't let her go. All his thoughts ran together as he searched for the best way to address the situation. His eyes darted away, but when he looked to her again she saw actual sadness.

"_You are disappointed in me. I felt it last night when you left."_

"_Not in you, not because I find you lacking." _

"_Why else does one feel disappointed?"_

"_Okay, I was disappointed. I was disappointed in your reaction to what had just happened."_

"_And how would you have had me react?"_

"_Like you did at first, like you want me too. But that's no excuse for how I reacted and I'm sorry." _

"_Do not apologize; you are not at fault. You have placed a great deal of trust in me. You have been tolerant of the intolerable parts of my mind. I did not wish to think I had lost that. It was very disorienting."_

"_Listen to me, Spock. I am human and I am going to be illogical and I'm going to get angry and saddened and sometimes I may even be disappointed. But I will never stop trusting you, I'm never going to abandon you. I lo—" _She stopped. Somehow she didn't think it would be welcome news, even if he could feel it.

"_I am gratified."_

"_Bolau tu shom."_

"_Where did you learn Vulcan?"_

"From y_ou. Now do as I say and rest." _ He let her go and she felt the retreat of his thoughts like a biting wind. She missed him instantly, like they were millions of light years away, not standing toe to toe. "I'm going to get you some tea."

"It is undignified for a woman to serve a man who is not hers."

"Who says you're not?" She threw over her shoulder as she left.

* * *

While the lieutenant was on duty the youngest busied herself dancing around the room, reading, and working on an embroidery piece, hoping to get it done for Nyota before they had to leave. Mwezi sat down with the doctor and Nurse Chapel until her questions about the attack and the subsequent reeducation process were satisfied.

Once the discussion was over she returned to the quarters to find Nzuri playing old 20th and 21st century love songs, singing along and pushing a needle through linen. "Do Vulcans give presents?" she asked without preamble.

"Regular Vulcans? I don't know. I mean you could probably talk a Vulcan of passion into giving you a valentine, but probably not your garden variety Vulcan."

"Oh, but Mr. Spock isn't your garden variety anything. The CMO—who is gorgeous by the way—told me that Nyota was just lying there like a vegetable, and that Nomad bastard said there was nothing it could do, even after it brought the engineer back from the dead. It was Mr. Spock that suggested reeducation. And then he volunteered to give her back her personal memories. We owe him her life."

"We have to give him something! We'll just tell him it's a human tradition and that it would be…illogical to refuse."

"Okay, but what do you get a Vulcan? What do they like?"

"The better question is what does _Spock—_the individual— like. Nyota said he was an avid reader of the classics, that he loves music—"

"She said he had a talent for it. She did not say he _loved _it."

"Whatever! And she said that he's into computers. He admires art and he's the science officer. So he seems really well rounded. It shouldn't be too hard to find him something."

"Yes, but in the middle of deep space? This ship isn't scheduled for leave on a metropolitan planet for another few weeks."

"What do we have with us?"

"You insisted on bringing your craft stuff."

"Yes! I can make him a wall hanging. That's a very respected form of art on Vulcan."

"Good. But of what?"

"Nyota!"

"Oh, come on. He's not going to want a huge tapestry of her face hanging from his wall. That's tacky."

"I don't know. Have you ever met a man who spent more than ten minutes in Nyota's company and didn't fall at least a little in love with her? And remember, he has more of her memories than she does at the moment. It's like that quote from _Wuthering Heights_ "He's more myself than I am. Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.""

"Listen, He's not one of those weird grinny Vulcan's from your novel. He's logical, totally. To him he's just a first officer ensuring that the Chief Communications Officer can maintain her post."

"You have no sense of romance, I swear!"

"You're not giving him a portrait of her; it's out of the question. Think harder. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to change. Your unromantic sister has a date with the good doctor in the mess hall."

"Uh-oh. Go Mwezi. I'm gonna write my own book, _The Doctor and the Dame_!"

"Oh shut up," she scolded, beaming and retouching her makeup.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Trasha nash-veh: **Leave me (this one); **Bolau tu shom: **You need to rest


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I love the reviews! Seriously, you have no idea! Please continue to R&R.

I want you to have the **Vulcan Translation** before reading. The only one you really for this chapter is **Velik, nash-veh aitlu du:** Simple, I want you.

Also, Nzuri ships it like FED-EX

(I still don't own ST and I still wish I did.)

* * *

The captain had granted the Uhura sisters full run of the ship. Despite this freedom, Nzuri seemed content to track down Spock. And apparently it was something of an Uhura tradition to accost him and interrogate him about his home world.

"Spock," she called, like they were well acquainted and hadn't only been in each other's company a total of 7.24 minutes. He slowed his gait but didn't bother to stop, knowing she would catch up. "Hey!"

"Good Afternoon, Nzuri." He should have addressed her as Mrs. Whittaker and yet it seemed too formal even to him.

"Tell me something, what's Vulcan like?"

Such a vague inquiry from anyone else would have been tedious. But the meld residual made him unexpectedly fond of her, the same affection that Nyota had for her dear baby sister. Still, he prodded her. "Specify."

"I mean I know it's "hot as Vulcan," but yours in an ancient culture. There must be more to your planet than the weather. Tell how it looks on a summer's night when—"

"Vulcan has no moon."

"Wha—how did you—are you reading my mind right now?"

"Most assuredly not. Your sister has already attempted to engage me in a similar conversation." Of course that particular factoid caused the lieutenant to abandon the endeavor, but he had no such luck with Nzuri.

"No moon? Whoa! That's so…exotic. What about water, how much water is there?"

"Do you require an exact measurement?" She laughed and he questioned whether he had intended to make an attempt at humor or not. "There is very little water on Vulcan."

"And did you have a sehlat growing up?"

He stopped walking then, turning to look at her, fascinated. "Yes, I did. But how did you become familiar with domestic animals on Vulcan."

"A book I read."

"Specify." He repeated, trying not to be exasperated.

"Do you want to see?"

"Indeed."

She led him to her sister's quarters where she handed him a PADD and opened the description of said book. He read it and could hardly believe such a thing even existed. "Where did you get this?"

"E-book store…"

"Nzuri," he began urgently, "The V'tosh Ka'tur are not to be romanticized. They are a dangerous sect of the Vulcan people. We were once, millennia ago, a violent and savage race. We nearly destroyed ourselves. Logic saved us. A V'tosh Ka'tur is therefore just as dangerous as our barbaric ancestors. They reject our only form of salvation."

She shook her head. "But they don't _reject _logic. They simply interpret the teaching of your Surak differently. What's wrong with that?"

He was properly horrified. But he was unconcerned; the cause was more than sufficient. Her perception had already been impaired. His connection to her sister made him feel like her brother. And as such, it was his responsibility to shield her from such harmful thinking. Logically then, he deleted her copy of _The Vulcan Who Loved Me _and handed the device back to her.

"Did you erase it?" She looked insulted but he fixed her with a stern look that halted any further protest.

"If you wish to become acquainted with my culture, I have several readings that may interest you."

"Fine." She replied through tight lips.

He allowed her to follow him to his room where he transferred several texts into her possession, starting with a copy of _The Teachings of Surak, translated_ by his own forefather, Skon.

While she was annoyed that he'd taken it upon himself to censor her library, being in his quarters served her purposes just fine. While he was compiling a reading list to decontaminate her, she took in her surroundings. It wasn't nearly as Spartan as she would've guessed. He had a least two instruments displayed, a few statuettes, a pretty wooden chair, and a beautiful 3D chess board among other things. She noted too, the overall color pallet, reds and browns—ironically earthy colors. Now she had at least a place to begin with her wall hanging.

* * *

Later, he recounted his day to Nyota as she sat in his desk chair, swiveling gently from side to side, plucking at his Ka'athyra without skill. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking over a report. They were content to just be occupying the same space.

"Oh she must have _loved_ that!"

"Her feelings about the situation are irrelevant." He sat his work aside. "The V'tosh Ka'tur are dangerous."

"What about Sybok?"

"I will not discuss Sybok."

"You really love him don't you?"

"I don't "love" anything."

Her strumming had not been melodic, but she struck a truly ugly chord then. "That is a lie and you know it! Your heart beats for your mother."

"My heart beats to circulate blood."

She chuckled, "You are so infuriating sometimes. You do that on purpose don't you?" He angled a brow and shrugged slightly. It was as good as an admission. "I knew it."

"Shouldn't you be spending your free time in the company of your sisters?"

"Why? Are you putting me out? For your information, they charmed the captain into letting them use the galley. Mama demanded that they cook me one meal with their own hands before they left. I'm supposed to stay out of the way. They also talked him into letting them serve it on the observation deck. But you know no man is able to look Nzuri in the eye and say no. Except you."

Without suitable comment, he rescued the crying instrument from her hands and played an actual song. He chose "The Nearness of you," something she was exceedingly fond of and a piece that had proved quite challenging to rearrange for the Vulcan harp. She sang for the first time since the wipe. Her voice was sweet and whispery. She swayed, holding his gaze the entire time. Her voice had always been stirring for him, but now that he knew exactly how singing made her feel and that she was channeling all that into a private performance for him, it thrilled him. A thrill he promptly dismissed.

At one point she rose, crossing the small space between them. She ran her hand over his hair, the tip of his ear, and finally cupped his cheek. The affection and desire pouring off her and the response it called up in him was a heady cocktail. Thoroughly intoxicated, he leaned into her touch and pressed a kiss to her palm, then to the inside of her wrist.

Presumably unable to continue standing, she lowered herself onto the bed next to him. He wasn't sure how exactly to proceed so he kept playing. He had apparently made a wise chose because she leaned into him, resting her face in the crook of his neck and singing into his skin. One of her hands was planted firmly on his knee while the other arm snaked around to cradle his head. He discerned that he'd never been able to achieve a level of fulfillment or tranquility by his own efforts equal to what he was currently experiencing.

When the song was done, he sat the harp aside without leaving his place. He then wrapped both his arms around her. The movement easily pulled her into his lap and he relished the sound of her gasp followed by his name. She made to say something else but he shushed her. The intimate silence was more satisfactory than anything either of them could have said.

He inhaled her soft feminine scent and even allowed himself a sigh of contentment. Then he realized how easy it would be to mark her from his current position. Quite instinctively, he found himself scraping his teeth against her flesh. Once he started it was nearly impossible to stop. He soon progressed to nipping at her. She seemed to be enjoying it if her elevated heart rate, shortened breath, quiet moans and provocative shifting were any indication. She was more than enjoying it, she was encouraging it.

He bit lightly, barely applying pressure—torturing himself. She was aiding in this torment by teasing the point of his ear with her tongue. He shuddered and didn't even try to suppress it. "Nyota," he pleaded. "Why do you test my control thusly?" His voice sounded heavy even to himself.

"Velik, nash-veh aitlu du."

With her blunt admission, he reached his limit. Without any conscious thought, he bit her hard until he was sure it would leave a mark. He guided her back slowly, until she was horizontal under him. He dropped his forehead to hers, taking a second to enjoy his current situation. She sipped at his lips until he subjugated her mouth. She clawed at him, frantic to bring him closer. But the primitive part of him luxuriated in control. He brought one of her arms above her head, pinning her hand with the ozh'esta.

He was considering the most efficient way to disrobe both of them when his door chimed. "Ignore it." She demanded, occupying him before he could reply. The door chimed twice more and he decided it would be better to address the distraction since it would clearly not be ignored. "I'll kill you for this," Nyota threatened as he climbed off the bed.

"That would be unavailing" he said more to test the quality of his voice than anything. He waited until she was upright and smoothing her hair to open the door.

If he had the capacity to hate, he was sure he would've hated Mwezi and Nzuri in that moment. They filled his doorway, grinning and asking if he'd seen their sister. Yes he'd seen her, but not nearly enough of her! He said nothing, simply nodded them inside.

"Hey, we thought we might find you here. Are you ready for the best meal you've ever had this side of Antares?" The oldest greeted innocently. "You're invited too, Commander."

"I am vegetarian."

"We know. We made a vegetarian dish. None of the ingredients have ever mooed, clucked, oinked, or swam." Nzuri added cheerfully.

He would've refused, but he knew that Nyota would go with her sisters and he didn't wish to be away from her at the moment. "I am honored by your service."

The middle girl begged a few more minutes to change out of her uniform and said she would meet them on the deck in 10. The agreed and departed.

He turned his attention back to her just in time to see her remove her hand from the spot where his mark was. He would prefer she not cover it but understood the practicality. She went to him and tried to placate him with a chaste kiss. He looked at her disapprovingly. "You're the one who opened the door." She reminded him.

"I was in error." He nuzzled the crown of her head, drawing her close.

"I'll say, Sugar" She pulled back and winked at him. A confounding gesture. "See you in a few?" He didn't answer. He was doing simple calculations to calm himself.

* * *

On their way back to the O-Deck the Nzuri squealed, startling and confusing her sister. "What is wrong with you?"

"Are you still that blind? After you stayed out with Dr. Sexy all night?"

"I already to you, we just talked."

"And I told you I think you're boring. But Nyota and Spock were totally going at it."

"Uh, no! Didn't you already get a slap on the wrist for being illogical today? You never learn."

"I know what I'm talking about here. We chimed three times before he answered and when we walked in she was sitting on his bed. Covering a hickey nonetheless! And did you see her lips, all reddened and swollen?" She clasped her hands together and held them to her chest. "You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.""

"Can you even go one hour without quoting something? I wish he'd started monitoring your entertainment a long time ago! You're delusional. Our sister does make men melt, I'll grant you that, but not even she is good enough to seduce a Vulcan."

"What seduce? I'm telling you he's got a thing for her, a serious thing."

"Serious admiration, serious respect—"

"Serious hots!"

"Nzuri. Stop!"

But even Mwezi started to have her doubts when Nyota showed up to dinner in a dress that had a high neckline—unusual for her. And there didn't seem to be a logical reason for him to sit so close. Still, the notion was incomprehensible. She'd had the privilege of visiting the bridge and got to see him in action. He was dedicated and intelligent. If she had to pick a man for her sister, he would have to have those qualities, but it just wasn't possible. He would never allow himself to love her, and Nyota deserved to be loved.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I think this update took longer than others, but it's pretty light stuff. I tried to take into account some suggestions and concerns. I genuinely thank everyone for their input. Please continue to R&R. The **constructive** criticism and dialogue help me more than you know! **Translations** and **name meanings** at the bottom.

I still don't own ST and I still wish I did. The rest of the Uhura family is all me though :D

* * *

Spock was doubtful that trying to teach the Captain the Vulcan nerve pinch would ever have a different result. Still he tried, thinking that if by some minuscule chance it did work it would be highly beneficial.

Kirk applied all the pressure he could manage and still it didn't cause so much as a tingle. "Captain, may I again express my uncertainty that any human will ever be able to master the to'tsu'k'hy?"

"Didn't you say that same thing to Uhura about the harp?"

"And while she reads Vulcan musical notation and has become proficient in the critique of Vulcan compositions, she is still unable to master the instrument."

"She'll get there, and so will I. And once I figure it out I'm going to use it on everyone—most especially you!"

"I shall look forward to it."

"Don't get smart with me, Minster." The captain shrugged off his tunic and moved to the weight lifting station. "Spot me." He started with relatively light weights and Spock commented in the errors in his form. Jim was eager to change the subject. "Have you spoken with Commander Uhura?"

"At length and on a variety of subjects."

"I mean about taking _our_ Uhura off the ship. She's given up the idea hasn't she?"

"Indeed. As I am the only one who can return the Lieutenant's memories, it is only logical to leave her in my care."

"That's another thing, how much longer with the sessions? Masters practically kidnapped me and asked me when she'll "be back online." It seems that she still isn't' back to her social self."

"That may change once she remembers her time on _Enterprise._ As it stands, everyone on the ship is still essentially a stranger to her." He stacked on more weights as the Captain finished his first set.

"You sure? Because the whole reason we're doing this is to get her back to her old self. The two of you spend all of your free time together. I don't want her becoming overly dependent on you, isolating herself from everyone else. That's not the girl we all know and love."

"She is as independent as she has ever been, Captain."

"If you say so, but finish up soon, will ya? I think Lieutenant Masters is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she's suffering. They were best friends."

"I'm aware, and again I submit that once she has her memories she will return to her old habits, in addition to having cultivated new ones."

"Bones was telling me that she's like a calculator now. He thinks it's thanks to you. He also thinks you're trying to—and I quote—Vulcanize her so you can spread your green blooded cheer all over the ship." Spock tried not to be amused. Sometimes the doctor's teasing was tedious, but there were rare instances when he found it amiable.

"It would seem I have been discovered."

Jim laughed and abandoned the weight bench, opting for the medicine balls. He tossed a thirty pounder at his first officer who caught it with one hand. "I heard you had dinner with the tree of them on O Deck. How was that, you and three illogical human women?"

"Agreeable." He tossed the ball as gently as he could manage, but the captain still crumpled around it when it came flying his way. "The Commander has a logical and orderly mind. Conversing with her is stimulating. Mrs. Whitaker is…tolerable."

"Tolerable?" He hurled the thing back but the other man seemed unfazed. Spock answered him with a noncommittal shrug, rolling the ball across the floor to rest at his feet. The captain narrowed his eyes at his oh-so-funny first officer. "What about the Lieutenant? Is she still "tolerable" after having to spend so much time with her? One of two things will happen if you spend a lot of time with someone. You'll either start to hate them or you'll start to love them."

"I do not hate Lieutenant Uhura." He waited a beat too long before adding, "Nor do I love her. She is—as she has always been—a respected colleague."

Kirk nodded, sensing the finality in his friend's tone. "You know, if I haven't said it yet, I just want to thank you for all you've done so far, Spock. I really didn't want to lose her. And if it weren't for your sacrifice she'd be on some starbase somewhere getting poked and prodded and scanned to death." He shuddered, trying to shake the unwholesome image. "She's unique in the universe and she belongs on _Enterprise._"

"I agree wholeheartedly, Sir."

"Show me the never pinch again," Jim said, putting the medicine ball back. Spock rolled his eyes—actually rolled his eyes—but conceded.

* * *

Later that evening, the Uhura sisters all gathered in Nyota's room in front of the comm station along with Commander Spock. The lieutenant entered and re-entered codes into the system trying to get a frequency that would reach all the way to earth. Spock stood close over her shoulder checking her equations and altering them slightly when necessary. She boosted the routing signal from the subspace amplifier remotely.

"Let's try this one more time." She tapped in the code again and grinned as she heard the connective tone ringing. "When Baba sees this, he should be able to bring it in the rest of the way." And so he did. Seconds later his face filled the screen until he sat back.

Spock noted the art above the fireplace behind him, the symbol of IDIC. It was proudly displayed so that anyone who called them would be able to see it. Spock found this agreeable.

"Nyota?"

"Hi Baba! Oh Baba, I've missed you." Her eyes were filling with tears and all her emotions were tugging at him through the link—joy, and the security that always came whenever she saw Angaza Uhura.

"My star, I missed you too. Are you alright? How's your head?"

"I'm fine Baba. Mwezi is here too."

"My baby! Mwezi, I haven't gotten to see your face in a month of Sundays."

"Hi Baba! I miss you so much." All of them were crying now. Spock never anticipated being in a room full of emotionally compromised human females. He thought it was appropriate that he take his leave, but his movement drew Mr. Uhura's attention.

"Nyota Uhura, do you have a boy in your room?" He asked, playing at being stern.

She feigned guilt, sputtering. "I uh—he's just a friend, Baba. I promise."

"Ooooooooo!" Her sisters captioned.

Unsure how to proceed, Spock introduced himself. "I am Spock, of Vulcan. I am Lieutenant Uhura's commanding officer."

"Nice to meet you, Commander Spock." Angaza held up the ta'al.

"He put Nyota's memories back!" Nzuri said loudly. "We owe him her life, Baba." She then went on to recount the story to the best of her limited knowledge with Nyota bridging the gaps. By the time all the facts had been related, their mother Fahari had joined them.

"Commander," Mrs. Uhura began, "I don't know how I could ever, ever thank you enough. But next time you're on Terra, you must come see us—if only for one evening. You must allow me to cook you a meal."

"On Vulcan, it is customary for the guest to prepare the meal for the householder."

"Then you'll just have to stay two evenings. The first night you can cook and the second night I will cook for you. Do you have a favorite food?"

"I do not. I am however vegetarian."

"Of course."

"Mama, our mission is another three years! You have time…"

"Help me, Mr. Spock. Is it or is it not logical to prepare for an event in advance?"

"Your logic is sound indeed."

"Thank you, My Dear. My logic is sound, Little Star."

"Nyota, this signal is fading," her father interrupted, leaning forward trying to compensate for the loss. She joined him in the effort, flicking switches and pressing buttons.

"Mama, hurry and get Enam and Niara. I have to see them!" Their mother moved quickly and retrieved Nzuri's two small children from somewhere else in the house. "Hey, Mama misses you."

"Mama!" They both called simultaneously.

"It's my aunties!" The boy, Enam, said once he caught sight of the other two women. "Hi aunties." The little girl repeated her brother, but in a faster and less intelligible voice. Beaming, they returned the greeting.

Nyota's feeling of happiness was so palpable Spock had to suppress a smile. Overcome, she reached out and took his hand, practically bouncing in her seat, her efforts to repair the signal temporarily abandoned.

"Say hi to Commander Spock. And hurry, the comm is going to cut soon."

"Hi, Commander Spock. Long life and peace." The child tried to flash the salute but his fingers failed to comply, snapping back together each time. Finally, he used one hand to hold the other in place. He grinned, feeling accomplished.

"Peace and long life." He said evenly, returning the gesture. He considered the child's efforts to be admirable, but Nyota's mind informed him that it was adorable. He acquiesced, telling her that if he was human he may have smiled.

The unit beeped, warning against the imminent shut off. "Quick, send me the code you used. I'll see if I can't improve it and call you again," Angaza instructed. Spock took over the task, logical because he would be able to perform it the fastest.

"Mommy loves you and I'll see you both very soon." The children's lips started to quiver and they were taking in shuddering gasps of air. "No, no! No crying" she was of course crying herself. "Be good and be brave, okay?"

"O-okay. We love you Mama."

"I love you too, to the moon and back! Mama, Baba, I'll see you soon."

"Alright , Sweetheart. Mwezi, Nyota" Mrs. Uhura said solemnly, "God Speed. Be Safe. Please, please come home."

"I love you Mama!" The eldest daughter choked out. "I love you Baba. I'll see you soon, I promise."

Nyota was gripping Spock for dear life now, internally begging him to impart his control to her. "Bye Mama, bye Baba. I'll see you when I get home."

And with that the signal disappeared. Mwezi excused herself to the bathroom and Nzuri went to lie on the bed, cocooning herself in the covers.

_"I do not understand. Why are they distressed? You were successful in your attempt to contact your parents."_

"_Nzuri is sad because she misses her kids and only got to speak to them for a few seconds. Mwezi and I are scared. Space is so dangerous. That could very well be the last time we speak to them."_

"_We will return to Terra safely, and so will the USS Liberty. You must cast out fear, Ashal-veh." _She nodded, sending him a wave of thanks and reassurance that she would be okay. Looking around to make sure both of her sisters were still properly occupied, she leaned in to peck him on the lips. But he caught her and deepened the kiss for the briefest interval. He had to summon copious amounts of control to leave it at that.

The urge to claim her grew stronger every day. The mark was healing but he still regarded it with satisfaction. He also found himself standing closer than strictly necessary, trying to get his scent on her. He recognized all of this as evidence that his mind already considered her his, along with his incendiary Vulcan heart. He was uncertain how long he could safely deny the most fundamental parts of himself, but it didn't feel like much longer.

* * *

Translation: **to'tsu'k'hy:** Nerve pinch; **Ashal-veh:** Darling

Names: **Enam:** Gift/Reward; **Niara:** One With High Purpose


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Again, thank you to everyone who reads, follows, and reviews this story. That's honestly why I continue :) We're reaching the home stretch here!The only new Vulcan word in here is **adun'a. **The text should make the translation clear but if it doesn't let me know. I'm still don't own ST, but the other Uhuras are all me.

_Italics indicates dialogue exchanged telepathically _

_/_indicates activity in the meld/

* * *

The last meld was one of the most difficult. They mediated for a long time prior, but Nyota was still having trouble setting aside anxiety and fear. She would have to face Nomad again. But even more worrisome was wondering where she and Spock would end up once the sessions were over. Part of her believed that maybe he was just under the influence of her emotions and in a few days when the effects wore off, it would be like it never happened. Or maybe it hadn't, maybe she would wake up in sick bay, without her memories having imagined the whole thing. If it was real, would he delete her consciousness from his? All of it was terrifying. She desperately wanted to put it off. When she sensed Spock coming out of his trance she felt like crying, knowing that the inevitable was approaching.

"Are you well, Nyota?"

She was shaking, but she nodded anyway. He looked skeptical and immediately entered her mind.

/He could never have envisioned such turmoil. There were so many colors they were mixing into brown. Not the same beautiful brown of her skin or the tempting chocolate brown of her eyes. It was a muddy brown that obscured his view of the rest of her mind. The music in her was heavy and loud, like war dirges. He couldn't reach her. _"You must calm yourself, Ashal-veh," _he called. _"Come to me." _He needed to get to her before his control was bested by her lack thereof. Otherwise he would be forced to withdraw. _"Speak to me."_

"_Just tell me it's real." _He still couldn't see her and she had to raise her voice over the discordant melody.

"_Clarify."_

"_Tell me I didn't make it up. Tell me I didn't make up what I feel from you! Because if I did—then I'd be insane. Tell me I'm not insane."_

"_You are not insane. You have full command of your faculties. The link is real, as is my regard for you. All of it is real." _ The obstruction started to clear and she became visible in increments. The unpleasant soundtrack faded slowly until there was silence.

"_I thought it was too good to be true, existing in this other space with you. I'm afraid that once this is over you 'll be taken from me one way or another."_

"_No such thing will happen as long as I have any say in the matter. I have no intention on continuing on my path without you."_

"_What?"_

"_I would have you as my mate, Nyota—as my adun'a."_ He stepped closer, taking her hand, doubling the mental sensation to add emphasis to his words.

"_Wife? Spock…Oh God, I am making this up!" _Even her delusions had become unfeasible. She would have to see McCoy as soon as she came out of whatever this fog was.

"_You are not delusional. Nyota, I wish to bond with you."_

"_This isn't funny anymore!"_

"_Examine the connection and tell me if you feel anything other than sincerity."_ He laid himself bare, dropping every shield and barrier. He was completely vulnerable and completely sincere.

She felt something all over her and in her, the way air fills your lungs after holding your breath. It was a hot raging thing that threatened to overtake her. All her limbs tingled with it and it stirred every cell, synaptic relay, and electrical impulse in her. It was how he felt about her and it had no name. It wasn't love, obsession or addiction and yet it felt like all of these things.

Of course he repressed his emotions. Feeling this all the time would drive someone crazy—or mercifully kill them. It was a lovely ache, and she bathed in it for a short while before he reeled the massive sensation back in.

The change in her was drastic. Suddenly she was bursting with love, certainty and giddy anticipation.

"_There are many things worth considering before we establish a marriage bond."_

With him still so accessible, she sensed all the sources of his concern. They came to her like a flash feed. First in his thoughts was the fever, he was afraid—genuinely afraid—that he may hurt her, or disgust her. Second was that as a Vulcan male he may seem domineering to her human sensibilities. He was also worried that his lack of affectionate displays would eventually leave her dissatisfied. He would want to continue their relationship discreetly, without alerting the entire crew. His heritage made him naturally jealous and territorial which may conflict with her flirtatious nature.

She combated each of his doubts with her own onslaught. The fever was beyond his control, why should she be disgusted? There was no way she would let him die from it. And if his mother could endure it, then so could she. She knew for a fact that he respected her, and her marvelous femininity was equal to whatever his dominating male personality could throw at her. Eventually, they would find a rhythm to displaying affection. Not all displays of affection are physical—sometimes it's a thoughtful gesture of softly spoken word. Professionalism and privacy were as important to her as they were to him, otherwise she wouldn't treat her first name like a state secret. And she would try to be considerate and temper her flirtatiousness.

Her confidence was staggering and her reasoning was complete. He was satisfied with her answer. Not bonding with her really wasn't an option at this point. She was already his. They would have to address any concerns later as they presented themselves.

The transfer of memories its self could have been considered pleasant. Her experience on the ship was largely positive regardless of their many brushes with death. She had a sense of home and family among these people that she didn't have anywhere outside of her literal home and family. She was especially fond of Lieutenant Masters, who became like a third sister.

When "Beyond Antares" invaded the replay, they both knew what was to follow.

She had faced the probe—a known killer with four billion victims—boldly. She was wary but unafraid. Then she was arrested by Nomad's light. She could see nothing beyond it nor could she move from its path. She felt the machine become unsettled as it scanned her and sensed its intention but she had no way of stopping it. The last thing she felt was all encompassing panic and desperation to hold on. She was silent, but mentally she had gone out kicking and screaming.

After the wipe there was only darkness and quiet from her mind as the memories died. A terrifying and lonely state that even now made her instinctively look for a way out. It was like being buried alive. She rattled around in the solitude like an animal in a cage until the light of reeducation slipped in—his suggestion. She loved him in a desperate way for that fact alone. She loved him a little more when he stopped the flow of awful recollections and took her to what had been the little shack at the beginning of this whole ordeal. Now it was a beautiful home, fully decorated with little knickknacks and bursting with light, color and sound. Everything was in its place now according to her hectic human organization.

"_So there it is."_

"_Indeed. Your are exactly as you were before."_

"_No, I'm so much better now."_

"_I could express the same sentiment." _His inner self pulled her close, dropping his forehead to hers. He hoped that his vast feelings for her translated appropriately. They were far too complex to ever be articulated. Even if he could have said "I love you," it wouldn't have been nearly enough.

He wished to bond them that instant but he was aware that she mentally taxed. _"Twenty four hours. We will be bonded in exactly twenty four hours."_ She agreed, although she knew it hadn't been a suggestion. _"Rest and Mediate, Ashal-veh. I will do everything else."_/

* * *

She tried to walk casually on her way to her own quarters, but she wanted to run or dance or float anything other than the measured steps she was actually taking.

"I'm back in business," She announced as she crossed the threshold. They were packing when she got back, trying to clear all their things and leave the room like they'd found it. "I remember everything. I've got it all back."

"Nyota! Are you serious? Are you sure?" Both of them tripped over their stuff, charging a path to her and catching her up in an embrace.

"Of course. I'm all better now. I want to thank you both. Having you here, rooting me to what is most important, it means the world to me."

"We love you so much. There was no place else we could've been."

"C'mon," Mwezi said taking their hands. "Let's pray; we have been richly blessed."

Once they had expressed thanks, she excused herself, walking as fast as she could to the bridge. "Sir?"

"Ah, Lieutenant! What are you doing here; you're not scheduled for another four hours."

"It's done Sir. Everything is back where it belongs!" In a rare display, Kirk wrapped his arms tight around her, squeezing almost too hard.

"That's wonderful. I'll tell Bones and Chapel and Scotty—he's been worried sick. You go celebrate. You're excused for the day! Go find Masters, she's excused too."

"Oh thank you, Captain!" She turned to leave but stopped and faced him again. "And thank you, Sir." Her voice was earnest. "You didn't give up on me. You didn't send me away. And you cared enough to get me back to normal. I'm so thankful. You really are the best Captain in the fleet, Sir."

He looked away bashfully, eyes glittering and blinking away tears. He cleared his throat and made a shooing gesture. "Go on, get out of here, or I'll have you written up for emotionally compromising your Captain." She beamed at him one last time before leaving.

Charlene was at her station, recording dilithium activity. She was so engrossed in her readings that she didn't hear the hiss of the door as it opened.

"I washed my face and hands before I come I did." Nyota offered by way of greeting, showing that she remembered that they both considered _My Fair Lady_ to be their favorite movie.

Her friend turned so hard she could've given herself whiplash. "Nyota?" Her face illuminated. There was obviously so much she wanted to say, but she opted for the most appropriate response. "Where the devil are my slippers?"

They screamed then, running to cross the short distance between them. "The Captain says you can have the rest of the day off. He wants us to celebrate."

"You really remember me?"

"Your favorite perfume is called "Caress" and your favorite lipstick shade is cocoa 16, but the replicator can't get it right. Your dress size is—"

"I believe you!"

"C'mon. I want to introduce you to my sisters."

"Finally! They're all you ever talk about. I feel like I know them already."

"They're going to love you."

The women spent the rest of the evening in Nyota's room with a bottle of wine, looking at pictures, watching holovids and making use of the chocolate her mother sent her. She felt a little guilty the other girls didn't know she was using this as a bachelorette party, but not guilty enough to stop enjoying herself.

* * *

Please continue to R&R. TBC.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Have I thanked everyone for their reviews recently? Let me say it again, you guys are awesome and I am very grateful. Please continue to leave me your comments and constructive criticisms.

This chapter is very transitional, but it's important, stick with me. I'm putting the next chapter up directly after. I hope you like them both. One** translation** at the end.

Still not an owner.

* * *

Spock decided against sleep. The night was better spent reviewing equations and codes that might allow him to establish a secure connection with Terra in the morning. He knew Nyota's father as well as she herself did. He thought of him as fondly, too. As progressive as Angaza was, he was equally traditional. He would respect the validity of a Vulcan bond, but he would also want a typical human wedding for his daughter. As Spock understood it, this meant he would have to ask for permission first. It was illogical to him as he'd already asked Nyota—who was a smart, independent woman capable of making wise choices on her own. She agreed, and therefore asking for her hand seemed unnecessary. But pleasing his woman was now his primary concern. One way to do this was to honor her father and the traditions of her people. It was certainly a justifiable course.

Unfortunately, while he was able to reach Earth, he was unable to establish a comm with the Uhura's personal frequency. The message told him that the comm unit he was attempting to contact was currently offline. After two more attempts, he temporarily abandoned the effort and contacted his own mother.

"Spock?" Her joy suffused the familial link. It felt totally different from the joy he sometimes felt from the Lieutenant. He realized in that moment that each human must have a distinct emotional signature. "My Son, to what do I owe the pleasure? T'pau told me you were on Vulcan recently. You didn't come see me."

"The circumstances of my trip did not permit such an action, Mother."

"Alright. Then explain to me the circumstances of this call. I'm grateful, but it's out of character."

"I have news I wish to relate which I believe will please you. I have found the one I will take as my own. My K'diwa."

"Really? Who?" He sensed her relief at the fact that he'd found another. His mother had always absolutely hated T'pring. She didn't try to hide the emotion form him or Sarek.

"She is human. Her name is Nyota Uhura. She is a Lieutenant, and chief communications officer aboard this ship."

"Human?" Her face split into the widest smile he'd ever seen her allow herself. "She sounds impressive. I don't have to ask how you met her. What does she look like? What are her hobbies, is she reserved?"

"She is aesthetically pleasing, but I have no holos of her to show you as of yet. She has many activities that she engages in during her free time. I believe the human term is "well rounded." She is very sociable; she does however appreciate the need for solitude and silence."

"Have you bonded with her yet?"

"No. I plan to do so later this evening. I wanted to make you aware. I am certain you will find her agreeable."

"I'm certain, too! I certainly find this situation agreeable."

"You may relate this information to Sarek if you choose."

"Can't you tell him? He's home, I can transfer the call."

"No, thank you. I have no need to hear him express his disapproval as it will serve no purpose."

"Why should he disapprove? He's done the same. Talk to him."

This was an old argument and one he didn't want to have at the moment. "It would seem that which applies to full Vulcans does not apply to me. I am expected to be more than exemplary to prove my worth. He will find fault with my choice because it is unconventional regardless of the fact that he himself set the precedent."

She sighed because she knew he was right. Sometimes there really was no pleasing her husband. And he would take this news a lot better coming from her. She would use her special brand of human logic and diplomacy to make him see that this was for the best. "Well, I am happy for you and I am anxious to meet her, Spock."

"I appreciate your support, Mother. I have other things to prepare, I must go."

"Okay, but don't be a stranger, huh?" He nodded. "I love you."

He desperately wanted to say the words to her. He knew what they would mean for her, but he couldn't form them. He gave her the response he'd always given her. "Indeed."

Once he'd told his mother, he went to tell the only two crew members he felt needed to be privy to the information. He met them in the captain's room. "What's this about," Jim said after McCoy joined them.

"I am to be bonded."

"Bonded? What like married?"

"Precisely, Doctor." He turned his attention back to the Captain who was wearing a knowing look like he'd already discerned the rest.

"Didn't we do this already? Last time you got married Jim almost bit it!"

"Doctor, there is no "last time I got married" as the previous ceremony did not have the expected outcome. I am certain however, that this wedding will be non-violent and end in commitment."

"Who's the lucky woman?" Kirk asked, flashing a crooked grin. "Do we…need to divert to Vulcan?" He was leading Spock on. He knew very well who it was. After the last few weeks, there was really no one else it could be. Now that Jim thought about it, perhaps he should've seen it coming. For one thing, there was a change in her. Mimicking was a sign of affection and she had assumed many of his gestures—steepling her fingers in front of her mouth, folding her arms across her chest, gently resting a finger to her lips. He played more earth songs on his harp. He stood close her, daring the grip the back of her chair, almost, but not quite touching. They shared looks that lasted just a bit too long. And his pause in denying his love for her yesterday was all but an admission. It had been obvious in retrospect. But he'd missed it.

"No. The woman I intend to marry is already aboard, Captain—Lieutenant Uhura."

"Yesterday, you told me you didn't love her. What happened overnight?"

"Spock, seriously, what are _you_ going to do with a woman like _Uhura?_"

"Captain," he began pointedly. "Nothing has changed. I am not marrying her because I love her. I am marrying her because it is logical to do so. And Doctor, what I plan to do with her is solely my affair. I am telling you this with the goal that you will perform a small Terran style ceremony, Captain. I believe it will please her. I was also hoping that you would opt to stand with me one more time, Doctor."

"Alright, alright. I'll be your best man. But Spock, are you sure this is logical?" He raised his eyebrow at his use of the word. It was almost derisive.

"Of course it is Bones, if Spock says it is."

"I just mean that she's been thorough a trauma recently. You gave her back her memories. Does she love you or is she just grateful? Maybe you should wait and see what happens."

"I do not expect you to understand my connection to Ms. Uhura. I also do not intend to justify it to you. I am confident that this union is durable."

"I believe you, Spock. And I'm happy to do the ceremony. When?"

"As soon as possible, hopefully today."

"Somebody's in a hurry. Don't they teach patience on your planet?"

"Indeed they do. But they also teach that it is illogical to delay that which does not need to be delayed."

"Good enough, but do you have any idea what to expect out of a human wedding? I mean do you know what's expected of you?"

"I have researched the matter, Captain. And I believe I have a working knowledge of the event."

"Good. And congratulations, she's a great girl."

* * *

He joined her in her quarters that afternoon. Seeing her was extremely agreeable. Her absence had been keenly felt. Her sisters were packing their things and securing the needed supplies for their journey tomorrow. They greeted him politely but seemed oblivious to his presence. Nyota however, was pleased by his company. She was further pleased when he quietly told her of his morning's activities.

"A Terran wedding?" She echoed. It was a compromise for him and she appreciated the sentiment. It set a really good tone for the rest of their lives together. "You took care of everything?"

"To the best of my ability. It will be small, but I hope you find it sufficient."

"The fact that you'll be the groom will make it spectacular!" She cradled his face in her hands and placed a quick kiss to his lips. Her sisters stopped to take notice then.

"I knew it!" Nzuri shouted with…triumph. "Ha ha, yes!"

"Are you that excited about my love life?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Well then, you'll like this. I'm going to marry Spock."

"You're what?" Mwezi asked.

"Going to marry Spock."

"When?"

"Today."

"You can't marry your commanding officer mid-mission, Nyota. And you're just getting your memories back. What about Mama, and Baba. They won't be here for your wedding. Are you okay with Baba not giving you away? Our whole family being left out? What about the cake and the dress and the flowers, the outdoor venue you've always wanted?"

"What I've always wanted is a man like Spock. We can have a reception when our mission is over. We're both senior officers, there's no reason we can't be together. This is happening. You can be on board or not, Mwezi."

Her demeanor shifted, she deflated and started to tear up. "Of course I'm on board. If you're happy then I'm happy." She embraced her tightly, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'll walk you down the aisle in Baba's place."

"I'll do your hair and makeup!"

"Can you try Baba again, Spock?"

He went to the comm and resumed his methods from early that morning. Much to his surprise, the connection was nearly instant. "Commander?" Angaza greeted.

"Mr. Uhura, good afternoon."

"Hi baba!" His daughters crooned.

"My Loves! I just got done recoding this thing. It was a matter of a few redundant protocols. I see you tried to call me earlier, Nyota."

"That was me, Sir. I was contacting you to request permission to marry your daughter."

Angaza blinked. Apparently Vulcan bluntness was not a rumor. "I am sure you are a fine man, Mr. Spock. But I do not know you."

"Baba," Mwezi began solemnly. "He can be trusted."

He responded by calling for his wife who joined him a few moments later. He updated her. She seemed ecstatic. "Oh, My love, please, bless them. We owe him her life. And I would feel much better about her being up there if I knew she wasn't alone. Mwezi trusts him. Nzuri is bursting at the seams and more importantly, look at Nyota. Really look at her. Our star has never shined so brightly."

"You want to marry my daughter while you're still out there, don't you?" He asked on a sigh.

"Yes."

He was conflicted. It was so unusual, allowing his daughter to be married while she was still off world and to a man he barely knew. But she was glowing. It was painfully clear. And perhaps it wasn't the circumstances; he had been no happier when Benjamin asked to marry Nzuri. He was just a father who wanted to hold on to his daughters. But that wasn't realistic—nor would it be loving on his part. She would marry him anyway, it was in her eyes. But her heart would be heavy without his approval and he didn't want that for her.

"Very well. You have my blessing, Commander. But I expect to see you two as soon as you leave space dock." He was rewarded with a kiss from his wife before she laid her head on his shoulder, taking his hand. Nyota dissolved into happy tears and thanked him at least ten times, while the first officer nodded respectfully. "I love you, My Star. And you better make her happy."

"I will endeavor to do so."

He grunted his response and cut the connection. He had to get off screen before he started sniveling. He'd never recover from the shame of crying in front of a Vulcan—son-in law or no son-in-law.

* * *

**Translation: **

**K'diwa:** Beloved. Shortened form of address for beings who are each other's k'hat'n'dlawa(one who is 'half of my heart and soul in its deepest sense)


	12. Chapter 12

**FUN FACT-** _The __Enterprise _NCC-1701 did have holodeck technology as illustrated in the TAS episode 19, "The Practical Joker." It was called the rec room in the episode. You'll need that info moving forward. **Translations** at the bottom.

I hope this delivers for you :)

* * *

Nyota examined herself in the mirror and everything was perfect. Her makeup was soft and natural, a swipe of eyeliner, mascara and nude lipstick. Nzuri had teased her hair into a soft braided crown and fastened it into place with decorative pins Mwezi acquired on Denova. "Something borrowed." The eldest said as she presented them to her.

"Oh! I have something old," the other sister exclaimed as she pulled a book from her suitcase. It was a volume of poetry by the great earth poet Maya Angelou. "Something new and something blue." She handed her a gift box. Surely she hadn't had time to prepare everything so she opened it with haste and curiosity. Inside was a beautiful swatch of midnight blue linen, embroidered with glittering silver thread. The careful and tight stitches read "There is no easy way from the earth to the stars."

"When did you do this," she whispered, awed.

"All the way here. I was going to give it to you anyway. I know it must be hard living out here, but I also know that it's worth it."

"It's wonderful!" She tilted her head back trying to keep the tears from streaking down her face.

"Don't cry, you'll ruin all of Nzuri's hard work." Charlene scolded gently. Her friend had been surprised, no flabbergasted by the news, but had jumped in right away, programming her grandmother's red velvet cake recipe into the replicator and lending her gold pumps.

She nodded and moved to slip on the white dress that her sister happened to have packed. It was a simple, almost casual, sheath. Her solution was to take the gold sash she had left over from the alternate universe and tie it in a bow around her waist. At least the trip was good for that much. "What do you think?"

"Stunning. Absolutely stunning."

"Let's go get you hitched."

She had been surprised by Spock's instruction to meet him in the rec room instead of the chapel; she supposed it was because it was less conspicuous. But she understood as the door slid open.

The rec room had been transformed. There was a warm breeze and dusky sky above her, tinted by the African sun. Standing on the lush plain stretched out before her was Spock in his dress uniform, standing straight and proud. She could feel happiness pouring from him, unchecked, even though it didn't show on his face.

Drums started to pulse in the background, Vulcan and African, mixing into a distinct melody. Charlene and Nzuri started toward the altar ahead of them to stand opposite the groom and his best man. Once they were in place, she took Mwezi's arm and began walking.

His gaze was so hot and powerful that she had to avert her eyes a few times, looking down to compose herself. But when she was finally across from him all she could do was stare. He was so beautiful, he was like art. And he'd done all this for her! She had to suppress the urge to kiss him right then.

Kirk spoke briefly, saying the traditional, non-denominational words outlined by the Federation. Then he turned to Spock. "Repeat after me. I Spock, take thee…"

"Nyota." She provided.

"I Spock, take thee Nyota to be my lawfully wedded wife, knowing that you will be my constant friend, and my faithful partner in life. I affirm to you in the presence of these witnesses my sacred promise to stay by your side as your faithful husband come what may. I promise to encourage you to achieve your goals, grow with you in mind and spirit and cherish you for as long as we both shall live."

He echoed the words perfectly and evenly meaning each one of them, she sensed his sincerity and could do nothing to stop the love and bliss from spilling out her eyes. She struggled to say the vows as clearly as he had.

"Then, by the power granted me by the United Federation of Planets, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may salute your bride." He offered her his first two fingers and she gladly accepted, knowing the significance.

"No! You have to kiss her," McCoy chided.

"That is precisely what I am doing, Doctor."

"Either you kiss the bride or I will!" He nudged him toward her and Spock allowed himself to be moved. He gently pressed his lips to hers, briefly. The group clapped and cheered.

While the couple posed for obligatory pictures, Masters ran out and returned shortly with cupcakes, then distributed them to everyone.

"I can't eat this, adun'a."

She shuddered at her new title and was so distracted that she missed what he'd actually said. "What?"

"I said, adun'a," he was amused that the distinction pleased her so much, "that I cannot eat this dessert. It is made with chocolate, which is a Vulcan intoxicant."

"It sure is, Sugar." She swiped icing off his cupcake and sucked it off her finger, fully aware how the sight would affect him. She tapped her index finger to his lip leaving frosting on his mouth. He debated for a split second whether or not to wipe it off but ultimately decided to remove it with his tongue. It was palatable, but the look she was giving him was far more satisfactory. "We need to go." She whispered.

They observed that their guest seemed quite content to entertain themselves anyway. Everyone was busy eating and praising Charlene for her grandmother's recipe.

"Affirmative."

The walk back to his quarters was practically torture. She had to act normal, like she wasn't exploding with joy and desire. She had to keep a professional distance instead of tackling him, and the fact that he was thinking the exact same thing only made it worse. It seemed like the whole crew wanted to be in the corridor at that very moment, acknowledging them with a nod. "Commander, Lieutenant," all the way to the turbo lift.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached his quarters. Thankfully, there were very few people out on that deck and everyone was used to seeing her come and go from his room by now.

They barely crossed the threshold before he snatched her into his embrace and seized her with a possessive kiss. She responded just as greedily. She broke the kiss, panting. He took a moment to look at her, to commit every detail to his memory. He let his hands roam slowly over her, learning. Suddenly he realized that her clothes were greatly hindering his efforts. It was only logical to remove them.

"Don't rip the dress. It's Nzuri's." She sensed his intention.

Her words indicated one thing, but he was receiving entirely different signals through the link. He regarded her defiantly. "I will compensate her accordingly," he promised before he tore the garment with one quick, effortless motion, from neckline to hem. This pleased them both.

She began to back away slowly, but he sensed no fear, only playfulness. She wanted to be chased. He let her have a head start before reaching out to grab her. To his surprise, she quickly changed direction and eluded him. Now, he was fully invested in the game. She darted over to the bed where he was sure he'd catch her, but she ducked and got away again. Her laughter was filling the room and he was on the verge of a smile.

"I'm over here, commander." She taunted from the other side of the room. She was quite the sight in black lace underwear and gold shoes. Her frolicking was illogical, but he was unable to deny her. He anticipated her evasion the next time and was able to capture her.

"You challenge me, wife?"

"What are you going to do about it?"

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, punctuating her skin with kisses. He continued across her collar bone and up the column of her throat before making his way to the other side. He nipped her neck lightly.

"T'nash-veh."

Following his lead, she nibbled lightly at the tip of his ear. He bit down. Hard. Causing her to cry out, something strangled between intense pleasure and slight pain. He purred, or growled, made some kind of noise before he turned his attention to her lips. When they finally pulled away, she collapsed against his chest. "I love you. I am yours." He let out what was definitely a growl. He nuzzled her, scented her. He scraped his teeth on the swell of her breast, desperate to mark her again.

"Do it." She was shuddering even though she was afire. "Mark me, Spock. Take me." He smirked. Had she not known him so well she would've missed it. But it was an arrogant, deliberate twitch of his lips before he bared his teeth and sank them into her flesh.

He urged her toward the bed. Then he brought his hand to her temples and entered her mind.

/ He went deep, to a basic place, where information and emotion were nothing more than chemical reactions and electrical impulses. His mental hand was skilled and sure, making the appropriate connections like plugging one component into another and then soldering them together. It only took a few moments, but she sensed an unfathomable shift. Unlike a typical meld, he was not just in her mind, he was of her mind./

Now that he'd joined their minds, he joined their bodies. Totally surrendering herself to him was like floating and sinking all at once, like huger and fullness. It was the single most pleasurable experience of her life. His experience was projected, while hers was reflected back, on a loop, once and again. It was like existing in two spaces, hearing an echo and wandering through a hall of mirrors.

They came undone just before she was certain she would lose her mind and never return to sanity again.

He lay with her, a tangle of limbs and bedclothes. He knew it was illogical, but he had no desire to move—ever. "Taluhk nash-veh k'dular."

She sat bolt upright, leaving him cold. "Spock, I…" He reached up and brought her back to him, holding her firmly to his side. "I love you too."

* * *

**Translations:**

**T'nash-veh:** Mine/ belonging to me; **Taluhk nash-veh k'dular:** I cherish thee. _  
_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Writing this has been a very positive experience for me thanks to all your wonderful feedback. One more thank you to everyone who read, reviewed and followed this story. The follow-up, "To Babel and Back" has been posted for any who are interested. Enjoy :)

_italics indicates dialogue exchanged telepathically. _

I still don't own ST.

* * *

She was surprised to have risen before Spock. Generally, he required less sleep. But he also relied on this fact as an excuse to go days without any rest. If he was still out, it meant he needed to be. She moved from the bed as gently as possible, trying not to disturb him. There were still a few hours before they had to report.

Charlene had been sweet enough to send her the pictures from the wedding. She opened the attachment on the PADD and swiped through them, unable to contain her joy. The first picture was of her still in the room, in hot rollers and a robe, with Nzuri applying her makeup. Next, a host of pictures and her and her bridal party in every conceivable combination. Then, her fully dressed, standing in front of her vanity.

After that were images of the breathtaking setting. It melted her. Spock knew, had been in her memories when she planned her wedding as a little girl, saw her playing it out with her dolls. Instead of dismissing it as fanciful or illogical, he brought her childish dreams to life, maturing them into something memorable and superb. That was the kind of man she married.

The holos of the two of them were her favorite. He looked so stoic, kingly as he took his vows. But there was warmth in his eyes that only she could see. She looked emotional enough for the both of them; in the picture directly after she was looking up, trying to keep the tears from actually falling. She preferred the picture of their Vulcan kiss to the one of the human counterpart. That was the one she would send to her parents to be put in the huge digital frame above the fireplace.

She sat the device aside and went to the bathroom to complete her morning ritual. Spock had an extra toothbrush in a draw and a second set of linens on the rack. His level of forethought was impressive. There was even a full uniform for her hanging in the closet. She wondered if all Vulcan men were this accommodating.

She collected their clothes from the floor, putting his in the refresher and staring ruefully at Nzuri's used-to-be-dress. The tag said it was designer and she knew she would never hear the end. She would still return it. Knowing her sister, she would repurpose the fabric somehow.

He hadn't woken yet, so she decided to run and get some coffee—the real stuff Mama sent—before sitting down to practice the harp. She plucked through the scales he'd given her, trying to match the sound in the recording. Finally, she struck the right note and all the pained looks from her husband were worth it. She had a surprise for him when he finally joined the world of the living.

It was the strangest sensation, feeling someone else return to consciousness. But all of a sudden, her mind was humming with a million different processes and thoughts that hadn't been there before. Many of them were equations; there was also the duty roster, his latest report to Command and a few observations about her. Thanks to him she now her body temperature, heart rate and blood pressure.

"Good morning, Adun." She serenaded.

"Good morning." His morning voice was deliciously deep and raspy—she was surprised to learn he had one. He filled the alcove between the bed and the sitting area. "How long have you been awake?"

"About two hours. Listen to this," she had now mastered three notes on the scale which she demonstrated. His pride filled her.

"Good. You are improving."

"I told you I would. I'm going to have breakfast with my sisters before they take off. Care to join?"

"It is agreeable." He stretched and it thrilled her to see such a mundane action because no one else got to. "I will be ready in fifteen minutes."

"No rush. I'll be playing "Mary Had A Little Lamb" by the time you get out of the shower."

"I will hold you to that statement, Wife."

* * *

They joined her sisters in the Mess hall which was empty at this still early hour.

"Hey! If it isn't my brother –in-law," Nzuri said in Swahili.

"Good morning, Sister-in-law," he responded in kind.

"When did you learn Swahili?"

"When I learned Vulcan." Nyota interjected.

"I want to learn Vulcan."

"I can recommend learning tools if you wish. My mother has kept a comprehensive list of programs that aided her in mastering the language."

"Please."

"I have also secured reading material for the children. At dinner, you mentioned that you read to them nightly. Perhaps, Vulcan material will aid them in developing a more diverse perception of the universe."

"I'd love that! Oh you're going to be their favorite uncle."

"As it stands, I am their only uncle."

Nyota and Mwezi left the others to get the food from the replicator. Except for the tea, which she made for him from her private stash. He was pleased by her choice for him—kreila—a type of Vulcan biscuit with a bowl of fruit salad. It went well with the rooibos. She was surprised that he liked the beverage so much.

"_I find it extremely appetizing."_

"_I'll try to get Mama to send us some more—somehow. If she finds out her brand new son-in-law likes it, she'll deliver it herself if she has to."_

"_Your incessant use of hyperbole is…"_

"_Fascinating?"_

"_Confounding." _

When she discerned that whatever transaction had taken place between the newlyweds was over, Nzuri reached down beside her and sat a gift bag on the table. "We have something for you. I started on it before the wedding, as a thank you."

"I don't think you know what you've done for us, Commander. There is no way, in any language or culture to express our level of gratitude."

"We would've gotten you something cool, like a new multipurpose stylus or something, but deep space is short on strip malls. So, together we decided I should make you something." She slid the silver bag across the table.

He was taken aback. He had received very few gifts in his life. And they had already thanked him more than 50 times since their arrival. He wiped his hands with a napkin and removed the thin decorative paper. It had obviously been prepared with great care.

He pulled out a large piece of burgundy silk. It had been embroidered with gold, copper and bronze threads, embellished with garnet and citrine beads. He unfolded it to its full size and recognized the pattern immediately. The stars above Vulcan as they looked from Shi'Kahr.

"Where did you get all these materials?" Nyota asked, voicing his question.

"Oh, I had them with me, I brought my craft supplies."

"You packed all that?"

"Yes."

"I am very grateful. Thank you." He was more than grateful. He was moved. His wife's took his hand, helping his center himself. She was smiling in his stead.

"We're glad you like it."

"I really, really wanna hug you right now, Spock."

"Please resist that urge."

"I will, but I just wanted you to know that."

"Acknowledged."

They went straight from the mess hall to the launch bay. All three of them were starting to cry—again. He was genuinely astonished at how often that happened.

"Well, My Star," Mwezi began. "I really hope to see you at home soon. Be careful, no more switching universes on me or staring down memory-eating probes."

"I'll do my best. You don't get kidnapped by any more Orion traders."

"I can't make any promises. Commander, it has truly been a pleasure. I hope we see each other soon. Keep this one out of trouble will you? Because I don't have any more emergency leave days."

He nodded.

"I love you." Nzuri propelled herself at her sister, catching her in a tight embrace. "You better get back home in one whole piece or I'll kill you!"

"Kiss the kids for me?"

"Yeah. Kiss him for me?" She nodded to her sister's husband. "I don't think he'll let me do it."

"Okay." She chuckled softly and pulled back, smoothing a hand over her hair, as fond of her as she'd been the moment she saw her. "I love you, too. I love you both." They huddled into an awkward three person hug that lasted for an extremely long time.

"If we don't leave now, we'll miss our rendezvous with the _Liberty_." They started toward the private craft, repeatedly turning back and waving. Eventually, the door slid shut and Nyota rushed to the closest view screen to watch the little ship jump to warp.

* * *

She sashayed onto the bridge the way she always had and confidently took her place. When the activity calmed and everyone was working quietly, falling victim to the lullaby of the hum and beep of the sensors, she started singing:

The skies are green and glowing  
Where my heart is!  
Where my heart is,  
Where the scented lunar flower is blooming:  
Somewhere, beyond the stars,  
Beyond Antares.

I'll be back, though it takes forever:  
Forever is just a day!  
Forever is just another journey,  
Tomorrow a stop along the way.

"Good to have you back, Lieutenant." The Captain called over his shoulder.

"Good to be back, Sir!"

* * *

**Ship goes to warp, credits roll! LLAP.**


End file.
